


The Ghosts of Children Standing in the Water

by Coveffinder



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU, Adult Losers Club (IT), Alive Stanley Uris, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Character Death Fix, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak wrangles six dumbass bisexuals and we salute him for his service, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Is Gay, Friendship, Graphic Description, Immortality, Multi, Past Character Death, Polyamorous Losers Club (IT), Post-Canon, Stanley Uris Lives, Temporary Character Death, The Losers Club have a bad time but at least they're all together again, Vomiting, and its what they deserve, sex (not sure what kind yet but THAR WILL BE), some gross things happen eventually so just lil fair warning, they all just love each other sm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2019-10-30 09:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coveffinder/pseuds/Coveffinder
Summary: 1995. Things are okay. Stanley Uris and Eddie Kaspbrak are dead, and the remaining Losers are getting older. Things are winding down, and It is really, truly gone. Derry’s hardly much of a city anymore at all, and things are easy. Things are good. What could possibly be left to do after defeating the Eater of Worlds?Well, maybe they did a little too much of a bang-up job with that whole “defeating the Eater of Worlds” thing, because The Turtle grows old as well, and sees a good opportunity in the seven little humans that had managed to name themselves champions of a glamour on a hostile little planet.These kids just can’t catch a break, a grave can’t hold the dead, and blood doesn’t dry.





	1. One; Bill Denbrough Circa 1965, Now on DVD.

Things were going pretty badly for Bill Denbrough as of the past year. Unpredictable, not exactly downright terrible, but bad all the same.

It all started when he woke up one morning feeling pretty good. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, but sometime in March he had gotten up without so much as a creak of protest from his aging joints. A good night’s sleep perhaps, maybe he was eating good that week. No problem. Even better when he woke up the same the next day. Energetic, cheerful, uncharacteristically horny. Audra had taken notice too, which seemed to put her in a good mood. Then the good week turned into two good weeks, then three. Bill wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he wasn’t going to question it. Maybe a last wind before he really started to feel the arthritis kicking in. 

“You look better, too.” Audra noted one morning as they sat at the breakfast table. Bill quirked an eyebrow, not yet looking up from a manuscript he was skimming for the hundredth time that week. 

“Really?” He asked, scratching out an unnecessary preposition. “How so?”

“I’m not sure, maybe you’re less tired? You’ve lost weight too.” She stirred her tea, eyes flickering over his face. Something had definitely changed. 

“Hm. Well, that’s good to hear.” He muttered, closing the booklet and pushing back in his chair. His clear eyes met Audra’s, and she noticed that they were a little less lined than usual. Still sparkling, oceanic blue though. The same eyes she married all those years ago. 

“And you, dear, look as gorgeous as ever.” He admired, standing to retreat to his study. Audra watched him go with an absent smile. A little enamoured, but also a little confused. She stirred her tea a little more, thinking. 

She couldn’t place a finger on it, but she had watched Bill Denbrough stand up from the same exact table for three meals a day for almost twenty years now, and every time he stood up a little crooked, because he had dislocated his right knee on the icy porch about five years prior, and it never really healed right. 

But he had bounced out of his seat without issue. No matter, maybe he had somewhere to be. 

-

They were bound to really start noticing eventually, and it was about three months in when Bill was down 30 pounds that he decided to see a doctor. 

“You’re still at a perfectly healthy weight, and you seem to have great energy for a man your age Mr. Denbrough. No changes in digestion? No deficiencies in any sort of nutrients, according to our tests. No fatigue?” The doctor clarified, examining Bill’s chart. 

“Yes. It really is… strange, but I feel fine. I was just confused, is all. I’ve been trying to lose weight for probably five years now, on and off, and all of a sudden I’m eating the same and dropping weight like crazy.” Bill explained, a little embarrassed. Audra had at first been delighted to see him getting healthier, but when she finally realized he wasn’t sheepishly lying about his progress, she agreed he should see a doctor. 

“Well, we haven’t found anything wrong yet, so we’ll wait for these results to come back and then decide if we need to investigate further. Monitor your weight for the next while, and if you get under, let’s say, 145 pounds, we’ll intervene with meal supplements. You’re healthy in the meantime, and I don’t see any reason you should start trying to gain.” The doctor assured him. Bill felt a better about the mystery, and thanked him as he went to leave. Surely it was a fluke, a stroke of luck.

“Oh, and Mr. Denbrough?”

“Yes?”

“Funny enough, your cholesterol looks excellent. I mean, the change in such a short period of time is actually remarkable. Medically speaking, you’re looking ten years younger.”

Bill forced a chuckle at that, and closed the door behind him slowly, feeling a little put off by something he couldn’t place. 

\--

Six months. Something was wrong. 

Audra Denbrough wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t watched herself, but Bill hadn’t had a single cosmetic procedure. Not a single injection, lift, or even a change in routine. 

The issue- which the doctors seemed perplexed that Bill approached them with it as an issue- was that Bill looked great. Bill had stopped losing weight around 155 pounds, perfectly healthy for man his size, and had gotten into pretty damn good shape again. His joints hardly ached anymore at all. One morning, he had woken up to his face swollen and warm to the touch. Audra had felt stick as she drove him to the hospital, thinking this was finally it. The calm before the storm was over, and this mysterious disease her husband had been battling was finally turning ugly. 

The doctors called it an allergic reaction. He went home with some antihistamines and slept the days away. His breathing never laboured like the doctors told him to watch out for. A week later, the skin on his face had not gone back to normal. It had tightened, plumped in certain spots and stretched in others, then settled back down. Boyish, porcelain and strangely enough, freckled more delicately than it had been in years. He went to the doctor’s again perplexed, and there he was asked the same question he would continue to hear until he eventually gave up on searching for answers. 

“You’re looking great, Mr. Denbrough, what would you like us to do?” Dismissive. Uninterested. Almost… unnaturally so. 

But the stress of it all was driving him up the wall. He never knew when he would wake up with a new, mysterious change. Never knew when things would really go downhill. One morning he woke up with a deep, aching pain in his balls that crawled all the way up his cock and then deep into his prostate. Cancer he thought. It’s cancer and this is when the other shoe drops. 

He had given up on the hospital at this point, so for two days he couldn’t sit or piss right until one night he stared himself down in the mirror, shirt hitched up so far he had to hold it in his mouth. His balls had lifted quite a distance, and he couldn’t stop some giggles from escaping. Manic, a little broken, and completely and utterly done with trying to rationalize the mystery. 

“Bill, dear? Is everything alright?” He heard her footsteps stop at the open door. 

He turned to Audra with manic eyes and smiled at her widely through the mouthful of his sweater hem. It was absolutely bizarre. Her eyes flickered down to his manhood, then back up to his face. The wrinkles from around his eyes were gone now. It was clear to see that the Bill Denbrough she was looking at was straight out of the 70’s, back when they were newlyweds. 

He started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and she joined him. They both sat there, in the strangest moment either of them shared in years, both still unaware of what they had done in 1985 only a decade prior. 

She started to cry, and he joined her.

\--

It was sometime in March again. A year had passed. They had stopped going to the doctor’s about the whole situation completely after the last incident. People couldn’t see Bill Denbrough like this. It would be a scandal. _“Horror icon William Denbrough goes bananas with plastic surgery! You won’t recognize Audra Phillips’ beau!”_ Audra was unsure of how to handle the situation that was unfolding around her, so she decided to ignore and enjoy while she still could. Bill had started ignoring around the same time they stopped going to the doctor’s. 

“It’s not like they’re gonna do much to stop it now, Audra. Give me some time to relax before you’re fixing me bottles.” He had teased, in about the same voice that he had attended college with. Tenor, soft, a little nervous. Not as husky as it had become with age, and somehow less experienced. 

So they pretended that they weren’t currently in the middle of the unthinkable, and Audra enjoyed her younger, fierier husband. She didn’t know how long this would go on, and at this point Bill was right. It was out of their hands. 

She had started to feel a little guilty even, considering she was still 50 years old. She was by no means completely faded, but she was still aging, and Bill was not. He would hold her at night now, the same arms but worlds different. Years away.

“I feel like a cougar.” She joked sadly. Bill had pressed a kiss into her graying hair. 

“I could still pass for thirty.” He argued. She let out an exasperated laugh, rolling onto her side to face him.

“Do you think it’s gonna stop?” She whispered, staring into his gaze. He seemed a little at loss for words.

“I hope so, Audra. I really do. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it’s true.”

He knew it had been a full 365 days when he went into the bathroom one morning and realized that he was growing hair again. He beat his palms against the countertop, half in victory and half in frustration. 

He was about to go down for breakfast when there was a sharp pain in the hand that still rested on the counter. He cried out in surprise, immediately grasping it with the other before it too erupted in pain. Not blinding or scary, just sudden. It felt like something had carved up his palms, and when he turned them over. His hands were soaked in blood. 

And suddenly, just like that, he remembered. 

Audra Denbrough was downstairs fixing herself a cup of tea when she heard Bill let out a cry of pain upstairs. She took a deep breath before preparing to go running, as she could only imagine what else this whole ordeal had in store for them. She closed her eyes for a moment. The house was silent, peaceful even.

The phone rang.

-

 

Audra was stirring her tea again, hard enough that she had created an angry little whirlpool in her cup. Bill sat on the counter, about twenty years old, talking to a long (and somewhat recently) lost friend. The same friend that she hadn't really gotten to meet the first time around. Bill’s new-old fingers twirled the phone cord with a vengeance. 

As if shit couldn’t get any weirder, his hands were bandaged and bleeding too. Audra didn’t bother asking. 

“Feeling spry, Big Bill?” A familiar voice joked from a continent away.

“I thought I was B-Benjamin B-B-”

His eyes went wide and his mouth stayed open for a long, quivering second. He met Audra’s gaze, and her hand trembled a little. 

“...Benjamin B-Button for the past half a year, so things c-could be better.” Bill finished, trying to stifle his horror at the reappearance of his stutter.

“Yeah, I was going a little crazy myself. Listen, I’m sure you’ve already guessed but I’m calling to-” 

“Tell me to come back to Derry.” 

Bill could practically hear Mike’s tired smile.

“Just like the good old days, when we had to go back to the good old days.” Mike mused gravely. 

“Have you called the others?”

“No, actually, you’re first on the list. But before anyone goes and we have a repeat of… Last time… I’ll start off by telling you that It’s not back.” 

Bill took a moment to try and wrap his head around that. He was already balls deep in what had to be _more_ supernatural tomfuckery. The whole situation seemed like another one of It’s wiles. He could remember it pleading and promising with them back when- _fuck, regaining the memories was a little stifling, even the memories of regaining the memories were a little stifling_ \- It had told them it could give them years- a few hundred if they desired. It had told Richie it could give him cancer with little more than a touch, and it could certainly make unexplainable things happen. What’s reversing the aging process of a few humans?

“How do you know?” 

“Plenty of long, hard to explain reasons that we don’t really have much time to discuss right now as I have three- maybe two depending on where Ben and Bev are- other calls to make and a lot more research to do. But I’ll explain all that later. I’m sure, Bill.”

“How sure, Mike? Are you sure we can do it again? Because I’m not. I’m not doing it again. ”

“It’s dead, Bill. I’m certain ”

“How?”

“Well, Eddie Kaspbrak is sitting on my couch drinking cocoa right now. And he just crawled out of the remnants of the old Derry infrastructure with a reattached arm, and he’s about 20 years younger than he was when he died. Would you believe him, if he told you that It’s corpse was still down there, and the door was still blank, and the sewers were finally just sewers again? He knows a lot about corpses in the sewers, as he was one for about, hm, what was it- ten years?”

Bill’s hands were fully shaking now, Audra didn’t bother interrupting him, she simply started with wide eyes and continued to stir. 

“Holy Shit.”

“Want to talk to him?”

“Y-y-yuh-yes! Yes Mike! Oh my fuh-fucking god!” 

“Hold on”

Bill turned to Audra while there was some movement at the other end of the line. 

“My fuh-friend, th-the one who d-d-d-d-duh-died duh-down th-th-there- He’s alive.” Bill explained, struggling to make out the words. Audra didn’t react. She stared off, and stirred.

“Bill?” A raspy, but certainly not dead voice asked. Bill felt tears he didn’t know had been building start to spill.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah.” The smaller boy sniffled, then laughed. Bill could tell he was crying.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Bill.” Eddie whispered, voice thick with tears. He sniffled again and started to laugh a bit more. “It’s dead, Bill, I promise.”

“I know, Eddie. I b-buh-believe yuh-you.”

“I can’t really stand for too long Bill, I’m in pretty rough shape compared to you and Mike. I should be ready to go by the time your flight gets here, I just need to-”

“Guh-get some r-ruh-rest, Eddie.” Bill croaked. “You need it.”

“Of course, Bill.”

“Eddie?”

“Yes?”

Bill was sobbing in earnest now. He had to stutter his way through the sentence with a sort of urgency.

“W-we d-didn’t want to f-f-fuh-fuh-forget ab-buh-about you. W-w-we r-ruh-really w-wanted t-to b-br-bruh-bring you b-buh-back.” Bill choked. 

“It’s okay Bill. It really is. You guys did your best, and your wife- is she okay?”

“Y-yeah, she is, t-th-thanks to you Eddie.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m gonna go sit down again, Bill, take care. See you soon.”

“See you s-soon, Eddie.” Bill whispered as the receiver was passed back to Mike.

“Same address.” Mike instructed. “I would love to talk longer, but everyone needs to get on their way. We have a time sensitive sort of issue, but nothing you need to worry about right now. I’ll explain when everyone gets here, okay?”

Bill nodded eagerly before realizing they were on the phone.

“I’ll be on the next flight.” 

“Perfect. And Bill, make sure your wife-”

“She won’t, this time.”

“Just for now, just to make sure nothing happens again. Let’s just worry about the lucky seven while we’re still reeling.”

“Okay.”

“See you soon Bill, I love you.”

“I love you too, take care of Eddie.”

“Will do.”

“Oh- and Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Careful how you tell Richie that Eddie’s back, you might kill the guy. Tell him I love him. Tell Bev and Ben too.”

Mike laughed. A full, warm laugh. Then hung up the phone.

Bill placed the receiver down slowly. Turning to Audra, he wiped some tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve. She stopped stirring.

“Back to Derry?” She asked. Her voice was almost steady. Resigned, almost not even surprised. 

He tried to smile weakly.

“Back to Derry.”

\--

“Flight 2705 departing Heathrow to LaGuardia is now boarding, please proceed to the gate. Flight 2705, Heathrow to New York.”

A young man in a thick knitted sweater was standing with who appeared to be his mother outside the gate. He had a newly altered pair of jeans that sat higher up on his waist than he was used to, cinched tight with huge darts and rolled up just above a pair of new sneakers that a 50 year old man certainly wouldn’t have owned. The clothes were all bunched and tucked in and seemed to have belonged to a much older man at some point or another, but such fashion wasn’t uncommon. He had a beanie pulled over severely short hair, and his worried eyes were covered with old sunglasses. He sipped at a coffee anxiously. The woman, who appeared to be his mother, spoke to him lowly so that no one could overhear their conversation. 

“And I know, really, that you’ll be fine this time. So I promise Bill, I won’t come until you ask me to. But please call.” She murmured. He resisted the urge to kiss her. 

“Of course. I can’t promise I’ll have much time when I get there, but darling-”

“I know, just when you can, okay?”

“I love you Audra.”

“I love you too, Bill.” 

He felt himself swarmed with something warm and fuzzy, and immediately disregarded the people milling around them. He took her face in his smooth hands, and brought her glossed lips to his own bitten-raw ones. 

A few people pulled a face at the college student sharing a long, passionate kiss goodbye with the older lady. Luckily no one noticed that it was Audra Phillips with the massive hat and her own sunglasses.

Bill held her face in his hands a little longer, smiled, and turned around to board the plane.

Out of the blue, and back into the black.


	2. Two; Richie Tozier Beats the Devil, Beverly Marsh Survives a Call.

Richie Tozier was cruising along at about- hmm- 80 miles an hour? Fuck cops!

“Fuck cops!” He cried into the night air of rural Massachusetts, humming along through the countryside like a fighter jet. He lapsed into a fit of giggles, and took his foot off the gas a little at a sign that marked he was approaching another town. It was cold as tits, and he should really put the top up. But whatever, fuck that. He would be there in less than three hours anyways. No time to be cold now! He was on his fuckin’ way, baby! Richie Tozier was back, and Richie Tozier was twenty again! Life was a highway, and he was gonna ride it all night long to get to Eddie Kaspbrak again. Then hopefully get ridden _aaaall night long_ in return. 

That was the funny thing about all this nonsense. He wasn’t even sure about what would happen when he got back. Was Eddie even there, or was it something else? Something more plausible than a man who had become a corpse in front of him, and had now reappeared as little more than a boy. It didn’t feel right to think about anything as ambitious as sex, or anything as mundane as eating breakfast together again. Not until he was back, and not until he could feel a beating heart in his arms. There was too much left to faith otherwise. He knew quite a bit about faith, growing up so strictly and unwillingly catholic, but in turn he also knew it to be a conniving and cruel lover. So for now he would fly and drive night and day to get back. To test the theory. No stopping, no slowing...

Okay, but it was pretty fuckin’ frigid, and he kinda had to piss, so it was time for a good old fashioned gas station rendezvous. 

He eased the rental off the road at the mouth of the pokey little village. He had to be well past Boston now. Almost into Maine. Then Penobscot county. Then Derry.

Then Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak. Eddie Kaspbrak lying on Mike Hanlon’s well-worn couch, warm and safe and out of the cold dark sewers and back home with the Loser’s Club.

-

“Eddie?” He had sobbed into the receiver, hiccuping and dripping snot at that point, at 4pm on a goddamn tuesday at work. 

“Richie.” Eddie was sobbing in earnest now too.

“Eddie, I’ll be there in a day, I’ll catch the next flight. Listen Eds.”

“You know that I love you.”

“What?”

“I never got to finish, Richie.”

More tears from Richie. He was trembling worse than Bill had been. 

“I love you too Eddie.”

“I mean, I love you like a lover, Richie.”

“I know.” 

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Me too. Eds. I mean- I do too- I mean- fuck. See you soon. ”

“Don’t call me Eds, Dick.” Eddie giggled, the line went dead. 

His secretary had poked her head in, seen the usual handsome young man in her boss’ shirt crying into the phone, and promptly decided to mind her own business. 

Mr. Tozier had started coming in less and less around six months prior, instead broadcasting at home and sending who the station assumed was a son or a nephew or something in to collect his things. People speculated what had happened to him; terminally ill, maybe. Bad nose job? House arrest! It didn’t really matter. His secretary was the only one who got to see much of Rich Tozier anyways, and though her boss wasn’t pervy, especially for Hollywood standards, he was still kind of an asshole. The new guy bore a striking resemblance, with some wild black curls (though they dominated the air few inches above his head rather than lie slicked back and flattened like her boss’), and a tall and gangly frame, broad in the shoulders but skeletal in the hands. This kid had oversized round glasses that blew up his blue eyes though, and a pale little face that had probably gotten mashed in a couple times based on the weird angle his nose sat at, but Rich had a pretty big honkin’ beak on him too. The boy had a thin scar across his forehead, which the secretary had sworn Rich had as well, but the worn crease in his brow must have made it look like he did. Surely the two of them couldn’t have the exact same mark. 

She could see the presumable family resemblance though, and Rich surely wasn’t above nepotism. This kid was a lucky college student for sure, interning at one of the biggest radio stations in LA. She swore Rich was a bachelor though, and didn’t he joke about a vasectomy that one time? Failed vasectomy, she recalled. Maybe this was a bastard son. A hot bastard son, but maybe a little too reminiscent of her boss. 

Rich “Records” Tozier, minus 30 years of coke and late nights spent up and down Sunset Boulevard.

The kid had stood up, left the office, wiped the snot on the $300 shirt he was wearing, and informed her that Rich Tozier was going on vacation for a while. Maybe retiring. Who fuckin’ knew. He was bleeding, she realized. Bleeding from his hands.

“He- he can’t- can he do that?” The secretary had stammered, already imagining the sort of wrath she would be having to deal with when the execs heard about this- from her- when she would have to tell them.

“What are they gonna do?” The boy had spun, arching an eyebrow at her and letting a mean, knowing little smirk play at his lips. She decided the boy was absolutely Tozier’s son. No doubt about it. “Fuckin’ fire me?”

“Fire… you?” She asked, waiting for him to correct himself. He barked a laugh in her face, and left in a hurry. 

She sighed. Cocaine is one hell of a drug. 

-

At the gas station outside of town, Richie grabbed a shitty hotdog that he would probably be passing like a kidney stone later on, devouring it in the comfort of the rental car. His heart was still thrumming along at 80, and his foot bounced against the gas pedal. He had done the math, and the fastest way into Maine was a flight into New York and the seven hour drive up to Derry. What was thirteen hours? A grand or two? For the Loser’s Club it was nothing. He would have fucking walked.

He was about halfway to a panic attack in terms of twitching. It would be pretty embarrassing, and pretty ironic if he choked to death trying to scarf down a hotdog. He started to laugh at that, then nearly choked, gagged, and almost painted the dashboard with all-beef Richie sauce. _Sexy, Tozier._ He took another swig of the worst coffee he had ever purchased to wash it down.

_Relax, Richie. You’ll be there in no time. But it’s time to slow down a little._

The voice was somewhere distant, so much so that he wasn’t sure if he actually heard it.

_No use getting into a crash on your way there. Calm down, child. Look into the sky._

Richie leaned up against the window, peering into the perfect black abyss. There weren’t stars in LA- well there were plenty actually- but not like this. He could see a plane far above, lights blinking rhythmically like tiny stars themselves. He had never gotten why people said “that’s just a plane” when they saw one at night. It was a metal goddamn tube filled with a couple hundred schmucks living a couple hundred completely different lives, all at 30,000 feet. That was cooler than a big ball of gas light years away. If you wanted to see a big ball of gas, you didn’t have to go that far, Eddie’s mom was right here on earth. Yowza. It would be a little punchier if Mrs. K was still kicking around. Eddie would really roll his eyes at that one. In fact, Richie had years of chunkalicious material to catch him up on. He smiled to himself. 

All the while he watched the plane absently. He wasn’t aware Bill Denbrough was on it, and Bill Denbrough was not aware he was flying over Richie Tozier. 

The calm, fatherly sort of ghost that had been saying something was gone now, but Richie’s leg wasn’t shaking anymore. He turned the radio on, and put the car into drive. A little slower. He would be there soon enough regardless. It was in the early hours of the morning now, but it had been more than a day since the call. He was about ready to get there and see the Losers again. His Losers. 

He set off north. 

-

Eight states away and hours earlier, Beverly Marsh was bouncing her leg, something she had always done when she was nervous. Maybe she picked it up from Richie “ADHD posterboy” Tozier when he would do it in class way back in the day. Richie Tozier. She hadn’t remembered him for- well it felt like a lifetime, but it was about 10 years now. Richie Tozier had been her first date, her partner in crime, clown-hunting buddy, and her first proper handjob in the back of his dad’s kickass red Caddy after their sophomore semi-formal. 

The weirder part was that she didn’t even remember her own goddamn husband. Ben Hanscom and her had gotten hitched sometime in ‘87 and had a reception all for their damn selves and a few close friends. They didn’t talk about the past, didn’t know each other from their childhood, and had met somewhere up in the boonies of Maine when he picked her up in a dead end town and had the courtesy to not slice her up like a Sunday roast. Two drifters who didn’t reminisce on the past, because it hadn’t treated them too kindly. He designed his buildings and she designed her clothes, their dates were still fun 10 years later, they rarely squabbled, and they hadn’t a child or pet between them except the house plants that were purchased by Bev and kept alive by Ben. Life was good and domestic. They had a cute little place in Nebraska all to themselves. The phone hardly ever rang.

Until it did, but it didn’t seem that strange considering the fucking year the two had been having. 

She cradled the receiver in her bloody hand, tapping along with her cherry-red nails. 

“We’ll fire up the jet and be off in an hour, Mike. We’ll be there in half a day.”

“Perfect, you’ll probably be the first ones, considering Bill and Rich are farther and probably have to land in New York. Same address, do you remember?”

“I remember now.” Beverly said breathlessly. “God, Mike, I remember everything… so clearly.”

“I know what you mean. Are you feeling okay? Not too overwhelmed?”

Beverly was sat securely at the kitchen table, perfectly grounded, yet still about ready to spin out.

“I think so.”

“There’s something else.”

She gripped the phone tighter in a short, spasming squeeze. “Fuck, Mikey, you’re one hell of a messenger.”

“I know, can’t say I enjoy they job.”

“What is it?”

“Eddie’s back.”

She didn’t really know what to think of that, so her mind went to zombie. It was silly, cartoonish. A cheesy monster feature one of the boys would treat her to at the Aladdin back in the day. Eddie Kaspbrak but grey-green and drooling and dripping gore, limping around moaning for brains. 

“Is he… okay?”

“In one piece, two arms, back to his prime as well.”

Beverly found herself crying now.

“Oh Mike!”

“Would you like a word with him? He’s supposed to be resting, but everyone has wanted to talk- hold on, he’s making the grabby-hands that he hates me calling grabby-hands again. Well, one grabby hand, the arm he lost still doesn’t really work all that great. Hold on.” There was a shuffling at the other end of the line as Beverly bit at a nail. She had quit smoking for a second time back ten years ago, and now she didn’t have a pack around to take the edge off. Probably for the best.

“Beverly?” That was Eddie alright, she nearly jumped out of the chair.

“Eddie! Eddie oh my God.” She cried, on her feet now and pacing in place.

“Hey Bev, long time no-”

“Eddie I’m so-”

“Sorry? I know. Listen Bev, it’s alright, really. I told Bill and Richie this all too. I understand. I know I would have done the same, even though I love you all so dearly. I still made it back.”

“Eddie but it must have been so cold and dark down there-” She choked. “Did you wake up alone? Did you… wake up? Eddie baby you didn’t deserve-”

“I’ll have the whole story when you’re all here, we have lots to discuss. But I’m fine now Bev, I’m great. Mike’s been amazing, and you’re all safe. I just want to see everyone in one place again.”

“Of course.”

“Mike says he loves you. I love you too. Bill said to send his love, and I’m sure Richie meant to. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course, see you tomorrow.”

“Tell Ben we love him.”

“I will. I love you guys too. Fuck, we’re gonna spend three days doing this before we get down to business, huh?” 

Eddie laughed. His lovely, kind laugh that Beverly didn’t know she needed to hear. Everything felt a little better. 

“I guess we will. See ya’, Bev.” The line went dead.

Beverly paced for a few more moments before tossing herself back down into the chair. Eventually she picked herself up on her leaner, new-old legs and went to wash her pulsing hands in the sink. The bleeding had trailed off now, despite the cuts looking pretty deep. She knew exactly what they were from.

The front door opened as she dried her hands, and she took off down the hall like a bat out of hell. Ben had been out for groceries when Mike called, and she couldn’t imagine how confused he must have felt getting slashed open from nothing. 

“Bev?”

“Ben! Holy shit!”

-

 

Eddie Kaspbrak collapsed back onto Mike’s comfy old couch, an ugly green creature of a thing that was soft enough that it nearly swallowed him up. Mike sat at the other end now, but Eddie was small and there was plenty of room. Mike was already deep into some old papers that Eddie didn’t bother trying to keep up with. 

“We’ve gotta stop doing this Mike, I’m getting too old for this shit.” He mumbled. Mike chuckled lowly. 

“How are you feeling?” Mike asked, folding the paper shut and moving to take off reading glasses that he wasn’t used to not needing. Instead, he rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in a good day now. 

“Much better. Warm again, thank God. You on the other hand, are starting to look pretty beat. How about you go catch some rest while the others get here, and then you’ll be ready for when we’re all together.”

“I’m not sure if I can get some rest. We have to get ready for the trip-” 

“No we don’t. We’re young again, remember? I used to drive 14 hour shifts in college on nothing but coffee and a prayer. A little roadtrip is nothing.” Eddie scoffed. “We’ll probably fly anyways, don’t Bev and Ben have a jet?” 

“One, That doesn’t sound very legal. Two, yes, they do.” 

“One, Yeah, it isn’t. Two, let me just remember how cool that is for a second.”

Mike set aside a newspaper clipping he had dug out of an old box, long forgotten. An obituary few would remember, if any at all. 

“Fine, just because I don’t want to be too exhausted when they get here, we’ll catch some rest. I don’t think we’ll sleep through the doorbell.” He stood to go to his room, but stopped mid-step.

“Are you good to be alone, Eddie? I know all this must have been a nightmare, and if you want to be in the room with someone I’m happy to stay.”

Eddie swallowed, eyes flickering down to his hands. One was a pale but still somewhat fleshy, a few freckles dotted it. The other was ghastly white all the way up to his bicep where it hit a jagged line. The hand was numb, and hard to flex, he had been trying to move it for hours but it still felt mostly asleep. Something told him that it would be staying that way. 

“It’s okay Mike. It’s warm in here, so it doesn’t really remind me of… of down there.” He rasped, keeping his gaze down.

“You know what? I’ll just crash in the chair. I do half the time anyways.” Mike decided, settling down in the recliner to Eddie’s right.

“You’re such an old man.” Eddie teased, but a small smile had crept to his face. “But thank you, Mike.”

“No problem Eddie, wake me up if you need anything at all.” 

“Night, Mike.”

Mike reached over to turn off the warm glow of the lamp, then looked to Eddie questioningly. Eddie thought for a moment before shyly shaking his head. Mike smiled in understanding, gesturing to the TV with the same question. Eddie muted it with the remote, but didn’t turn it off. 

“Sorry.” He breathed.

“No problem. I used to sleep with the light on all the time back when I remembered.” I’m here, and if you have any dreams, don’t be scared to wake me up.”

“Okay.” Eddie said softly, bringing the quilt up to his chin and rolling onto his side. It would be a long, tired night.

“Night, Eddie.”

Sleep came slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> editing this took longer than expected- things start to pick up soon!


	3. Three; The Losers Contemplate The Joys of Long-Dead Friends Back Above Ground

Bev and Ben were the first to arrive in the early hours the next morning, and Mike was surprised at how fast Eddie shot off when the doorbell rang. 

He was at the front door in seconds, an exhausted Mike trailing behind him and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Eddie was already in Beverly’s arms, held tight and rocking with her. Ben was laughing, awkwardly joining in on the hug before giving Eddie’s fawn-brown hair a ruffle. 

Ben turned to Mike instead, catching him in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Missed you, man.” Ben rumbled into his shoulder. Mike gave him a solid pat before pulling away, grabbing Ben’s biceps in his hands.

“Missed you too.” 

Ben broke out into a grin, taking a look around the street behind them. Beverly and Eddie had managed to separate now, still locked together by the arms and giggling with each other. Beverly locked her other elbow around Mike’s neck and brought him down to kiss his cheek. 

“Whole place really went to shit after that collapse, huh?” Ben noted. When they had driven in, Derry had looked unfamiliar. It was surprising how fast it had died since the disastrous storm. The town had lost most of the investors, and now it was smaller than it had been when they were kids.

“Ayuh, gotta go to Bangor for most things nowadays.” Mike agreed. The conversation was almost casual for a minute. Just some old friends talking- a little strange that they were acting so worldly so young. “Keenes’ still open, that’s about it. I sold off the farm after mom passed, and it’s an ugly ol’ steel sided thing now, they grow soybeans or something. Eddie’s house flooded out and rotted, and Bev, yours has been gone since the flood. Richie and Bills’ were swanky enough someone spent the money to get them repaired. I don’t think it even touched Ben’s.”

“Good riddance.” Beverly muttered darkly, behind her eyelids an old lady’s yellowed eyes seemed to stare up at her over the brim of a teacup filled with murk. She was gripping onto Eddie’s arms like he might float away at any moment. “How are you? Shouldn’t you be lying down?”

“I’m fine, stop momming.” Eddie laughed. “It’s a whole tale for later tonight, but I’m alright. A little light-headed sometimes, but it’s clearing up pretty quickly.”

“Let’s go sit down. I’ll cook.” Mike offered. “Do you guys have luggage?”

“Not much, just a bag or two. We practically left the minute you called.” Ben replied. “But should we have brought anything else? Weapons, maybe?”

“Nothing of that sort.” Eddie promised. “For now, at least.”

Mike got to fixing breakfast, and they caught up a little. The conversation was easy, but surprisingly tame. All the gory details were going to wait until everyone was together again, and everyone seemed to leave Eddie’s reappearance well enough alone. They would have plenty to do soon, so instead they decided to relax a little until the other two got there. It would probably be around six hours for the both of them- a seven hour flight and a six hour drive from each, depending on when they left. It had only taken Bev and Ben about nine to get there, but they were lucky that their pilot was local. 

The day was surprisingly calm. They lounged around, napped a little, and Mike and Ben set off into town for a while to get some groceries. Someone would scurry to the window whenever a car went by, and eventually, still fairly early in the morning, it was a black cadillac that they could tell was a certain someone. 

Everyone took a step back to let Eddie tear out the door and meet Richie Tozier on the front lawn, where they sank to their knees clutching each other. 

Richie took Eddie lightly in his arms as the smaller man crashed into him, staggering back a step before plopping down on the lawn. He let Eddie crawl on top of him and effectively pin him under his slight and shivering form. Richie’s eyes were firmly closed, and for the moment he couldn’t believe it was him. He didn’t want to open his eyes and see a face that wasn’t Eddie’s. He was terrified when he looked up something would be off, just a little. Just enough to let him know that this wasn’t Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie opened his eyes to the most handsome boy he had seen in a decade. They had lost touch sometime before senior year, and due to Eddie’s mother’s efforts he still hadn’t quite come into his own at the time of their separation. This Eddie was about twenty, but he hadn’t grown much either. He was still fairly small but in good shape, and certainly stronger than Richie had expected. His hair stuck up in soft waves, and his white-grey eyes were almost perfect circles on his shocked face. His faint freckles were still the same across the bridge of his nose, parted by the stripe of a thin white scar. 

“Richie.” He sighed, bucking his elbows and settling onto Richie’s broad chest. Richie laughed, pulling him up and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s small form. 

It took a good few minutes, but eventually both of them dusted themselves off. Richie greeted the others and took some time to be friendly, all whilst keeping Eddie firmly tucked beneath his arm. They migrated inside still talking, and soon enough Eddie was mysteriously wrapped in a massive sweater and pink in the cheeks, sprawled across Richie’s lap on the couch as the two couples laid around Mike’s living room.

“Ever the gracious host, Mikey.” Richie laughed. Eddie playfully took the glasses off the bridge of his nose and popped them on himself, staring up at Richie whose smile was starting to ache.

They chatted about little nothings little longer, Mike had tossed dinner in the oven and the waiting was starting to turn restless. Curiosity was starting to build, and when the doorbell rang just in time for dinner, the stampede to the door was loud enough for Bill Denbrough to hear from outside. 

The dogpile had to be taken to the lawn lest everyone fall off the small cement landing outside Mike’s front door. It would have looked ridiculous to an outsider. A little band of college students living in Derry because God knows why, rolling around in the grass together at suppertime and howling with laughter.

“Okay, this is absolutely m-more emotional than last t-t-tuh-time, and last t-time was pretty f-f-fuh-fucking emotional.” Bill cackled, gasping for breath now. His luggage- which was really just a backpack, sat in front of the still open front door that bathed the lawn in orange glow. 

“Probably because we were all old and fucked up!” Richie teased, Beverly’s elbow jutting into his ribs.

“We gotta go inside- we gotta- we look ridiculous.” Beverly giggled, trying to pull herself off Bill’s stomach but finding herself squished by Richie who was practically lying on him in full. 

Mike eventually managed to stand up and drag a few of them into standing position, even getting a very disarrayed and grass-stained Bill off the lawn. They made their way inside, and miraculously the pork chops weren’t even dry.

“You look good.” Mike smiled, arm around Bill’s shoulders as the others tried to set a very small table for six people. 

“Better than I was.” Bill agreed.

“Better than you were the last time we talked, or better than you were a year ago?” Mike asked. There was a knowing tone in his voice, it was the same sort of leading question he’d asked back when he still had living old-timers to interview for his records. 

“Better than the last time we t-talked, b-but not a year ago.” Bill confessed. Mike could tell easily, and both were aware of it. It wasn’t just age that had wrought havoc on Bill back in 1985, it was the nightmares. He had come in ‘85 with eyes that were puffy and tired, but roving and paranoid. In all honesty the past ten years had been bliss. Work had been pleasantly slowing down for him and Audra with age, and for once there was nothing leering in the back of his mind. He had forgotten about Derry, but and had his subconscious now that Pennywise was gone for good, or at least too weak to haunt his dreams. 

Now Bill’s eyes were ringed with purple bags again, as were everyone else’s. Mike had a similar mind to Bill’s as a writer, and he could pick out an attribute and catalogue it with a description. When Bill was tired, for example, he was weary. He looked like he had been through a battle, but he wasn’t done fighting. Beverly hid creases and discolouring with careful makeup. Too careful, and too experienced. She had fixed bruises with nothing more than drugstore powder and talent since she was in middle school, and all the way up until their last encounter. Ben and Eddie simply powered through exhaustion with little more than a shrug and yawning. Richie curiously enough, went sultry. But then again Richie was often sultry, the effectiveness just depended on if he was exaggerating or not. He lidded his eyes and made himself comfortable with everyone in the room. Raspy, subconsciously thinking about getting to bed and trying not to go alone whether he was aware of it or not. Mike knew why. Richie had spent the better part of his life in strange and hostile little clubs for most nights of the week, at the very least for a good number of years. Stress turned him into who he was back home, when the lights would be coming on soon.

This all came to mind as he and Bill had stopped to watch Richie purr at Beverly in a deeper tone than usual. Ben and Eddie seemed to both understand that Richie didn’t mean all that much in his musings, and went about setting placemats in easy conversation. Beverly wouldn’t have humoured him if she was anything less than willing, and right now she was giggling along with whatever stupid line he was trying on her. But there was still something tense in the room despite all the good nature. They were all tired, just like ten years prior.

They were all scared.

Trying to fit them all in at the table was a struggle they refused to give up on, and eventually they dragged the recliner into the kitchen for Eddie and Richie to squeeze onto while they all ate. After Eddie got his fill- not as much as they all insisted he should take, but limited to a tiny portion that wouldn’t upset his essentially brand-new digestive tract- they ended up in a pretty shameless fight over the rest of the food. Eventually they had scrapped it out (though Richie had ‘playfully’ almost stabbed Ben’s hand with a fork), and they set to wolfing down their food while trying to avoid speaking with their mouth open, at varying levels of effectiveness.

“Well boys, you’re all certainly looking much better for wear! Bevvie, still a stunner as always. I know we were all a little jealous last time, but you’re all looking almost as good as me again.” Richie yammered, miraculously managing to keep the mouthful of food he was chewing inside his mouth. “Big Bill is on the rogaine I see! Good for you kiddo, you’re looking a little less Eisenhower and a little more skinhead chic.”

Bill flipped him off from across the table, glowering up at him with a badly concealed smile.

“You’re one to talk, trashmouth.” Beverly giggled, tapping her temple. Richie’s hairline was lined by a five o’clock shadow, his widow’s peak filling back in. 

“Aw shit, really? Guess I’m not much of a silver fox anymore.” Richie pouted. 

“You’re more of a black poodle, Rich”

“Aw, Haystack, am I a good boy?”

Mike wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, setting his hands down on the table. “Everyone finish up dinner, because I hate to rush us out the door, but we have some things to discuss.”

Everyone’s eyes flickered up with a sudden seriousness, and the table fell comfortably quiet as everyone continued stuffing themselves. Eventually everyone’s plates were clean, and everyone agreed that desert wasn’t on the menu. 

“Eddie is going to explain what happened, and that will lead into what he have to do next.” Mike started. Richie rested his hand on Eddie’s back and rubbed soothingly, and Eddie cleared his throat. Everyone had gone dead quiet.

“So, I’m back. Which is probably a pretty big shock to everyone. I mean, the biggest fucking shock of your lives I would hope. I want you all to know that everyone welcoming me back has been… It’s been surreal. I mean, it’s all been fucking insane. I don’t think I can even wrap my head around it. I woke up probably two days ago now, lying in the sewer, and I didn’t know where I was. I just had something tugging in me- a sense of direction, you know? I’ve always had it, but this time it was stronger. Stronger than when I would navigate us through the tunnels when we were all down there. I needed to go where it told me so badly I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. It was dark, and cold, and I’m sure I could have lost my mind if I was alone. But I wasn’t. 

“There was this voice, it was soft and distant, and I couldn't tell where it was coming from. It told me it was called Maturin, and it was telling me to calm down, not to be scared. It wasn’t telling so much as… commanding. I couldn’t lose my mind down there because it was demanding that I didn’t. So I listened, and it sort of led me to this patch of floor where there was a box of old, old matches. Ours from before. I struck one, and it lit up the whole cavern, and I could see this thing. It. Lying in a massive, rotted heap in the corner. That was when I almost lost it again, and I sort of took off out the entrance. I turned and saw the door- the one with the leper on it- it was blank. I was panicking then, despite Maturin’s voice. He told me I had to keep going, and that I had to calm down, so I did. 

“It was so cold down there, and I was filthy. I didn’t turn back to my younger self first, I sort of reverse-decayed- oh god, that’s fucking disgusting just saying it- and then came back to normal. I was kinda crashing through the sewers at that point blindly, as I ran out of matches pretty quick. It was so cold, too, and my stomach was so empty I wasn’t even staving. I just felt… hollow. So I wandered around for an hour with the voice guiding until I came out at this big hole down near the canal that they never patched. It wasn’t that hard to find considering how fucked the sewers had gotten after the collapse. When I hit the nighttime air… Holy shit. I mean… holy shit. It was like being born again. 

“I knew I had to get to Mike’s. So I did. Thank God no one saw me, it was late at night. I made my way here in a trance, and when Mike opened the door I was surprised he didn’t just drop of a heart attack.

“I kinda shut down then. I mean, he was young again. Everything… took a few hours of talking to finally get me back down to earth. But eventually we rationalized everything that had been happening, and he calmed me down. He really was the best about it. 

“So then my skin was crawling and I had to tear off the fucking fossilized rags I was still in and try to clean up. It took probably three good hours of scrubbing to get back to normal. I mean, too much information I know, but jesus christ. Funny enough I was feeling good though, underneath it all. Everything on the inside- even my teeth were fine. Eventually I was feeling alive again. My arm still doesn’t really work, I don’t think it ever will, but that’s small potatoes. I had to kinda sip at water and reintroduce myself to food, but it all went okay. I’m sure this experience is anything but biologically possible. Me and Mike were slowly remembering it all, but it wasn’t until the cuts showed up that we knew what we had to do.

“And that’s it, I guess.”

It was a long while before anyone said anything, Richie had his head rested on Eddie’s shoulder. They all tried to compose some coherent responses. 

“So, what does this all lead into? Your story aside Eddie- I mean, we could talk about that for the next twenty years but- what do we do now?” Bill asked. 

“This all has something to do with Maturin. The turtle.” Mike said gravely. “And we don’t know what it’s for yet, but Eddie found out what we need to do.”

Eddie cleared his throat again, taking a quiet sip of his drink. “We’ll find out what this whole ordeal is about when the Loser’s Club is complete again. That’s really what this all is- The Turtle is bringing us all back as the Loser’s Club, the real, complete, most powerful version of it. The thing about me coming back is that it’s clear that it can revive the dead just fine, and keep us sane even when we’re contained in a dark, underground space…” 

Bill let out a gasp of horror, his face had drained completely. Mike stared down at his own clasped hands. The others were still scrambling to come to terms with what they were hearing. 

“The Loser’s Club is made of seven,” Eddie continued “and Maturin needs all seven of us back. We’re getting our youth, and our power, and then a job to do. But we need to be complete first. So now that we’re _all alive again..._ “

It dawned on everyone, one by one. There was a silence, and a frantic, building panic in the room. A sense of urgency. The realization that they had someone to run to. The fear, the exhaustion, it all popped like a balloon. 

“We…” Eddie grimaced, finishing with a weak, horribly serious voice. “We need to go dig up Stan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to know how many of you guessed that this was coming lol. Is it as out of left field as I was hoping for?
> 
> This chapter was a little painful for me to get over with, as I had all the action that takes place after mostly done. Enjoy, and thanks to anyone still sticking around. Things should be picking up right about now...


	4. Four; Everyone has a Bird About Nighthawking (don't be such a chicken)

The plane ride to Atlanta was pretty fucking tense, that was for God damn sure. 

The good spirits were gone as well, replaced with a sense of urgency that they tried their hardest to hide from the confused pilot, who was wondering why the Hanscoms were lending their plane to a crowd of teenagers. They departed Bangor at eight p.m on the Hanscom’s private jet, leaving them in Meadow Point Cemetery, Atlanta, Georgia, at 2 am. 

Six hours of flying and driving to think of the grave they were about to dig up.

Bill had his face pressed against the window as farmland coasted by beneath them. He stared out glassy-eyed into the dark sky, letting his mind wander. It was almost raining here, but probably not in Georgia. It was warm underground, wasn’t it? If you were in a box down there it would be a thick, stifling heat that could probably cook you alive. Not to mention the fact there wouldn’t be any air…

“You okay?” Ben asked, sitting down across from Bill on one of the tan leather seats. Bill’s eyes were so bloodshot that it warmed the blue of his iris into the illusion of a deep greenish hue. 

“Yeah. Thinking.” Bill sighed. He pried his cheek off the glass and blinked at the roomy cabin of the jet. Richie and Mike were pouring over something at a table, and Richie had his brow creased and his glasses pushed right up on his nose. It was uncharacteristic to see him discussing something so seriously, but he had a surprising sort of brilliance in him that he never showed off. Eddie and Bev were in a different pair of seats, talking amongst themselves as well. The low hum of the engine filled the cabin.

“I’d advise you not to. Nothing we can do until we get there.”

“I know.” Bill muttered. “That’s the w-worst part. I can’t stand to think of him down there trapped like that.”

“Maturin will keep him sedated. Eddie is fine, and he quite literally walked straight out of hell.”

“But he’s still _there._ It’s been what, two days?”

Ben pursed his lips, tapping at the armrest with rough fingers. “We’ll get him out of there, Bill. We can figure this out.” He reached out a hand and rested it on Bill’s leg. “It’s a lot, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Are you alright? You look awful.”

He was right. Bill had been acting strange since the news, and now Ben noticed how pale he had gotten. He didn’t imagine Bill had slept on the plane over either, knowing how their leader tended to worry. 

“What am I doing?” Bill laughed hoarsely. ”Everyone is sitting here thinking this through and I’m just staring out the window. I should be helping.” He stood abruptly, and Ben got up quickly to follow.

“Relax, Bill. You need some rest. It’s-” 

“How are we going to do this?” Bill announced. The others all turned to face him.

“Dangerously.” Mike was rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“We know where the plot is, and Ben can help us with the physical schematics, but the issue with that is we don’t know if we have the manpower to do it in the time we have.” Richie added, pointing at a book he had laid out on burial protocols. 

“We can.” Bill breathed. It came out a little quiet, but not at all unsure.

“The thing is though, maybe we can’t.” Richie insisted. “That’s six feet of cold hard dirt. We’re all tired, and it might just be best to go tomorrow night and-”

“We’re getting him tonight.”

“Bill, I want him back just as bad as you, but we have to do this logically. If we go tonight we’ll be pressed for time. Getting caught means all of us end up in federal fucking prison, and then Stan is underground for the next however many years.” Richie said, eyes serious behind his glasses. “We could always only send in half of us to do it, as in make an A team and a B team, but we still need someone to keep watch. If we’re being purely honest, Beverly and Eddie just won’t be as effective as diggers anyways. The four of us will have to all work at the same time if we want him out within a few hours, and splitting our prospects could just fuck us over. Besides, say A team gets caught regardless, the cemetery would raise security for a few months at the very least. If we don’t do this carefully not only are we risking serious jail time- _Georgia_ jail time- but we’re risking Stan being down there for months. Hell, years.”

“We aren’t going to get caught because we’ll-” Bill said, his voice going deep with warning.

“Bill, sit down.” Beverly warned.

“Hey! I’m just trying to-”

“Bill!” She gasped. He realized that she wasn’t telling him to shut up by the time he was flat on his ass.

“Jesus, Bill, are you okay?” Ben sounded worried. Mike had already knelt down to help Bill up, and his head was swimming with exhaustion. 

“I’m… I’m alright. Just dizzy.” Bill groaned. He hadn’t felt this shitty since his last college grind, and he knew why. He got sick without enough sleep, even back when he was younger. 

“When’s the last time you got some rest.” Eddie asked sternly, now overtop of Bill as he clambered to his feet.

Bill paused, looking a little guilty. 

“Well I hadn’t b-been sleeping great before the call, so maybe I was already a little tired when Mike-”

“How many days?” Eddie glowered.

“Four, five with naps.” 

“Bill!” Eddie hissed, grabbing his arm and tugging.

“Okay, okay.” Bill groaned, letting himself be guided to sit down again.

“Case and point your honour, we’ll refrain from our body-snatching tonight.” Richie muttered, his own exhaustion evident in how he didn’t bother with a voice.

“No.” Bill decided. “We’re doing this tonight.” 

“Look at you, Bill, you’ve just about tired yourself out to death. Richie is right, tomorrow night, midnight.” Mike decided.

“We’re going when we get there.” Bill sounded just about ready to fight about it now. “I’m sorry Mike, but we have to.”

“You’re not the boss of us, Bill.” Richie shot back. 

“Guys.” Eddie groaned. “Come on.”

“They’re right, Bill.” Ben added cautiously. 

Bill looked up, dark-ringed eyes passing Ben and going straight to Beverly. The others’ gazes followed until everyone was looking at her expectantly. She paused reluctantly.

“I know it sounds insane, but so is everything else we’ve been doing lately…”

“Oh of _course_ she’s going with him. We really haven’t changed!” Richie groaned, tossing his hands up in exasperation.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shot Richie a glare.

“Yeah, Richie, what’s that supposed to mean?” Ben added, a little bit more level-headed.

“Will you idiots stop? Jesus Christ, we’ve got better things to worry about. Why are we all acting like Stan isn’t literally _in the ground_ right fucking now? This isn’t a fucking itinerary-based job, and we aren’t turning it into one.”

“Eddie you can’t seriously think-” 

“What if it was me, down there? _Still_ down there.” Eddie returned. The room went quiet.

Richie’s arms tensed visibly on the table, and he practically bristled at the words. Beverly stood from her chair.

“Are you trying to act like I care less about Stan than you?” Richie warned. The room felt bigger, and Eddie’s hands balled into fists at his sides. 

“I’m asking you a question.” Eddie deflected.

“The situations are completely incomparable.”

“Not completely.”

“I would do what’s best for the group.” Richie shrugged. “In your situation it would have been safe to come and get you, so I would have.”

“If it was _safe_?” Eddie narrowed his eyes.

Richie raised a hand to slam it back down on the table, but instead it hung it mid-air. He took a deep breath out. 

“I would risk my life to get you, and I would risk my life to get Stan. But as I already _explained_ -” Richie drew out the word patronizingly, and Eddie looked about ready to jump at him. “We wouldn’t be risking our lives to get Stan, we’d be risking our chance to get him out. This hesitation is for Stan, and only for Stan. I would chew broken glass to get him out tonight, but it’s not that simple.”

“Richie is right.” Ben agreed, Mike standing beside him. He turned to his wife. “Bev, you’re the smartest goddamn person I know, clearly you understand what we mean.” 

“This isn’t a matter of logic.” Beverly shook her head. Eddie was sitting with Bill now, and she took a step in their direction.. The two halves of the losers were facing each other. 

“Yes it is.” Richie countered, taking another step forward until Beverly was close enough that she had to look up at him. Both of them had relaxed in posture, hands limply at their sides and their gazes less hostile than before. 

“We go tonight. You have our best interests in mind, but it’s tonight.”

“If it’s safe to, then fine.” Richie said. “But not if we’re risking it all.”

“Maturin won’t let us get caught.” She insisted. She carefully raised her hand, palm open so that they all could see it.

Richie’s eyes followed it speculatively, and for a moment it was quiet.

Then, pain. Richie let out a yelp of surprise and everyone drew their hands quickly up into the other.  
Beverly kept hers raised, and a long, dark trickle of blood seeped from the perfect white line along the crease of her palm.

Mike and Bill stared from their respective sides, meeting eyes, Bill’s mouth refused to twitch even the slightest into a smirk. No smugness, no sense of victory. Mike nodded.

“Get some rest, Bill. We’ll write up a plan for when we get there.” Mike decided. Bill begrudgingly agreed, knowing better than to distrust the more cautious losers into tricking them. They were all in this together, and the other three were just trying to make sure everything worked out. Beverly and Eddie went to join them around the paperwork laid out carefully over the table.

Ben, Mike and Beverly got into materials while Bill fell asleep in the chairs. Richie and Eddie ended up remaining silent, and eventually Eddie motioned for Richie to leave the group with him. 

They sat down on one of the sofas, Eddie’s knees curled up underneath him.

“I hope you’re not mad.” Eddie grumbled. Richie nudged him with one of his socked feet.

“I hope _you’re_ not mad.” Richie smiled, looking a little meek. “I feel shitty arguing with you after-”

“Oh no.” Eddie laughed. “We are not letting this zombie shit change things. We’ve always butted heads, asshole, and if you stop arguing with me because you think I’m some sort of living martyr I’ll actually get pissed off.”

“I’m not pissed off. I don’t care that we bitch at each other either, it’s just… When you said that thing about…”

“I know.” Eddie interrupted. “That’s kind of what I feel shitty about.” 

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yes I do.”

“You fucking died, Eddie.” Richie sighed. 

“And then I tried to use that as leverage against you. That’s not just shit I can weaponize. I don’t know why I said that.” Eddie shook his head.

“Hey.” Richie murmured, using a hand to tip Eddie’s face up to meet his eyes. “You saved all of our asses down there, so don’t ever feel like we’ll hold you up as anything less than a hero whether you like that or not. This is new territory for literally everyone alive, so don’t feel bad that you might have brought it up at a weird time. You didn’t do anything wrong, and you still made a point. I got defensive, and I shouldn’t have. We’re all just tired. Tired and scared and right in the middle of the worst Ocean’s 11 bullshit imaginable right now. So we’re all going a little fucking nuts. But sometimes your local cosmic turtle God just needs to step in. And he did, so it’s fine now. Now we have to get back to getting Stan out of the fucking ground.”

“You make far too much sense when you’re feeling serious, Richie.” Eddie laughed. Richie opened his arms, letting Eddie fall on his chest and lie down.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Richie asked.

“Nope.” Eddie mumbled into his shirt.

“If you and Stan were in the same position- and I know this is shitty- I would get you first. And I can understand internally how fucked up that is, and I know him killing himself wasn’t his fault at all, but after what you did for me and Bill down there- no- for all of us? I would kinda be obligated to do anything to get you back. I don’t care _more_ about you, but that’s just because you can’t really care more than already wanting to do literally anything for someone, like i would for Stan. I would still die for you, Eddie.”

“I would too.”

“No you fucking won’t.” Richie growled, stuffing his hand under Eddie,s stomach who started to laugh. “You’re forbade for dying for anyone again.”

“I’m not sure that’s how that word is used.”

“Forbaden!” Richie barked in a deep voice.

Eddie was laughing in earnest now, and the two nearly rolled off the sofa. 

“Glad to see we’re all on task.” Beverly muttered from across the cabin, neatly writing out a list of materials they needed.

“It’s good for them. We could all do with a bit more lightheartedness.” Mike sighed.

“We could all do with a bit more rest.” Ben shook his head. “Even if we cycle in Bev and Eddie, This hole is going to have to be dug in less than four hours. It’ll be tight.”

“How tight?” Bev worried.

“ _Soooooo_ tight.” Richie moaned from the couch.

“Beep beep, asshole. Get over here.” Ben threw over his shoulder. “We can hustle and get that stupid fucking hole dug if we really put our backs into it. Mike and I will probably be our best bet- no offence to you guys. The casket can be broken open with some things from the hardware store, but after that we have to get Stan out, so here's hoping he’s in as good shape as Eddie was. The cemetery opens at eight a.m, but we need to be out of there before seven.” 

“What do we do if we get caught?” Richie asked.

“Run.” Ben replied dryly. 

“The turtle should keep us in pretty good shape, but we’ll bring water, some food, caffeine. Anything to keep us going.” Mike added. “We’ll be generous and say we’ll break ground at three, which means we have four hours max.”

“We have a rental car ready at the airport?” Eddie was pacing now, clearly a little more nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Yes, so the plan is that we hit the ground running.”

-

Stan was mercifully, not cremated, because how the fuck would that have worked? The plan wasn’t terribly sophisticated though. Four shovels, flashlights, and two of them to stand guard. 

And a saw. To open… To open the fucking casket. 

Turns out buying four shovels and what looks like a murder weapon at two in the morning also gets some weird looks. Weird looks also stemmed from tearing out of a Home Depot parking lot like a bunch of fucking lunatics, and then squealing to a stop in a sleepy little neighbourhood outside an affluent cemetery. 

There they were. Bill, Richie, Ben and Mike about four feet underground and Beverly and Eddie pacing the road to Stanley Uris’ headstone nervously. 

His name, a six pointed star, and a few stones stacked on the headstone. Plain, elegant. When they got there Richie started to cry, then after two shifts of digging he threw up.

The vomit puddle was about two stomach’s worth of pork-chop strong now. The hole was half done, and they would be finished soon. Bill had sprung up from his sleep with surprising eagerness as they started their descent on the plane, but now he looked dead on his feet again. But so did everyone else. The digging had took a toll on all of them, Eddie and Bev had taken shifts as well. There was a terrifying sense of realization that Stanley Uris was alive… 

And only a few feet of dirt away. 

It was what kept them motivated. The boys were making record time with the shovels now. Things were going fine. Eventually they hit something hard. Something hollow. 

And then the something hollow hit back. A low, sudden thud from the inside, followed by a frantic series of banging fists.

Beverly had screamed at the first in suprise, and they fell silent. Only two of them could fit mostly in the hole now, and Bill started knocking back frantically.

“Holy fuck, holy _FUCK. STAN! STAN!_ ” Richie cried. Mile yanked him back by the collar before grabbing him under the arms with Ben and hauling him out of the hole.

“Quiet! Jesus Rich, there’s _people_.” The cemetery was fairly open, and the green rolling hills were visible from the road. They were almost visible from the road. 

Mike took his spot. The hole was wider than the casket so that they could stand at the edges and get him out. They set to work finishing clearing the dirt, and got ready to crack the lid.

And, because grave-robbing was never the safest sport, Eddie let out a terrified shriek. 

Headlights. Headlights inside the cemetery. 

The motherfucking _night guard._

 _“GUUUUUUYS!”_ Eddie turned and wailed, not bothering to keep his voice down. Stan’s grave was beside the road the car was driving towards them on. He would probably notice the motherfucking _grave robbing_ unfolding. 

Richie caught Ben when he fainted. 

“We gotta fuckin’ GO.” Richie hissed, shaking and ready to vomit again. Mike and Bill shared a glance, the glance that people who have fought Eldritch beasts and turned back into teenagers together share when they go _“this is pretty fucking bad, buddy, even for us.”_

They started to saw.

-

Meadow Point Cemetery had the same issue any cemetery with a local population of teenagers had, that being that sometimes kids brought a Ouija board in to fuck around and then had to be chased off. Mark Penn hadn’t gotten a single one arrested in his five years of undertaking the cemetery. Every night he would do his rounds at midnight and six. Nothing too exciting had ever happened, and he was a thoroughly atheist man. He never felt spooked in the cemetery, because cemeteries happen to be pretty unlikely haunts. No one dies in cemeteries, and people haunt where they died. Duh. Ghost hunting 101. 

So Mark Penn saw flashlights, and smiled to himself. Bingo. 

He took the drive real slow, enough to let the kids get away so that he wouldn't have to deal with the cops or anything. The kids would clear off, and he would have a fun time scaring them, and then he could go home.

He could see one already, keeping watch with a flashlight. He looked to be around High-School age, maybe a little older. His small silhouette stared down the car, then turned tail once he started to get close. Game’s over, kids.

He crested the hill, and his eyes scanned before his heart dropped and he nearly let his late-night espresso go right in his pants.

“ _No fucking way._ ” He gasped.

-

Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon broke the lid off of Stanley Uris’ casket, and Stanley Uris sucked in air and folded in on himself. 

He stared up into the gorgeous, starry blue sky. The air was amazing, and his entire body sung with ecstasy at the cool March breeze. He was drenched in sweat, and he knew the scent was probably fucking abysmal, but he didn’t care. The suit he was buried in was kicked to the bottom of the box, and now he was in underwear and his undershirt. He had been conscious in the casket for a little over two days now, but he was still miraculously sane. Sane, and crying now that they had really come for him. The Loser’s Club had come to save the day even after he broke their pact. The whispers of Maturin vanished into the night sky. 

A flashlight carefully avoided his eyes and illuminated his legs instead. He could see what appeared to be a very young Bill Denbrough and Mike Hanlon above him, followed by Richie Tozier and Ben Hanscom even higher, all peering down at him. He smiled up at them, peeling his lips back off his dry teeth. He was so dry… but not quite thirsty. So hollow. But living. Living for sure. His eyes stung terribly as they took in the light. 

At first he rationalized they were all scared of him, but Bill reached down and took his bony hand.

“Stan, we gotta fucking run.”

-

Mark Penn was really screaming now.

_“You’re all going to fucking prison for this! This is a federal offence! This is fucking ungodly!”_

He was waving his flashlight at the kids. A whole fucking clan of them. He didn’t have a gun, either, and for a moment he realized that these psychopaths were probably willing to fucking kill him. He saw two _in the hole_ and nearly passed out, but he wasn’t going to miss the real show, now was he. 

The two boys standing above the hole reached down and pulled one of their friends out. He started taking mental notes for the description. _Black male, about 6 feet, plaid shirt, jeans…_

Another one. _Short red hair, about 6 feet, knitted sweater, jeans…_

Then…

_No._

_No fucking way._

A gangly, thin man about six feet as well. But… No fucking way. 

He was filthy, now in the direct beam of the light it was clear to see that this man was alive, but he had been in that casket for years. A disgusting shirt that must have been white at one point, and a pair of underwear that were… miraculously unsoiled. The man was underweight though. College age as well, bony but not terribly so. The other boys kept their hands underneath it’s arms and…

Of my fucking god it was _MOVING._

The man walked like a newborn horse, stumbling along as the smallest boy, the only woman, and the black boy took off in a sprint down the hill. The others stayed behind to help the dead man walk. He was in the beam of the flashlight now, and Mark could see he was covered in matted, discoloured hair down to its collar in disgusting clumps. His skin was oily but a sickly olive tone underneath. 

And he turned to face Mark. A handsome boy’s face caked in foundation from 1985, his orifices were ringed in oily circles where it had worn off. Now it was a disgusting cakey mask. His eyes were so bloodshot the sclera was pink, and the pupil was blown inhumanly wide. He was in such a bad state of cyanosis that his lips were quite literally blue, and his gums had gone a faint white-purple. 

He could tell, because the thing was grinning maniacally.

Mark Penn fell over, thankfully not dead, before he could call the police. He would wake three hours later in a panic, and report what would become one of the strangest unsolved mysteries in the coming years, with only spotty memory, no suspects, and no idea how he had passed out. 

Stan could feel the rapid rise and fall of Bill’s chest under his cold arms, the other’s ribcage constricting and expanding laboriously as he heaved him down the hill. Stan tried to keep up with his legs as they slowly gained feeling again, but he was mostly being dragged now. The patter of footsteps behind them had to be Richie and Ben, while the other three had taken off to pull up the car. He distantly realized there were tears streaming down his cheeks, but he was still smiling despite himself.

“Well, Bill, this is a little much even for you.” He rasped.

Bill let out an exhausted noise of amusement, arm still hooked firmly around Stan’s shoulders. Stan was finally running fairly well on his own now, but his vision was still spotty and he didn’t trust himself not to go swerving into a headstone. 

The other’s had pulled up the rental at the base of the slope, the four scrambled their way down the wet grass as they tried not to slip and go tumbling down the hill. Beverly cast a flashlight out the passenger’s side window, and Eddie beat his foot nervously on the brake pedal. He could get them out of here in a few minutes, being such an experienced driver, but if the man had seen them and ended up remembering them they would have to get out of Georgia fast. Beverly and Mike stared in wonder at the sight of her long-lost friend under Bill’s arm. 

The doors slammed open, then shut, and the car squealed away in the dark of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stan :(
> 
> That one was a much quicker update, thanks a little to more exciting writing but mostly to everyone's lovely comments <3


	5. Five; Give Me A Minute, Can't You See I'm Trying To Have A Mental Breakdown Over Here?

There was plenty of crying, plenty of hugging, plenty of ‘sorry’s and ‘I love you’s.

“Holy _dick-splitting SHIT wind down the fucking WINDOWS!_ ” Richie screeched. Stan tossed his head back and laughed hysterically, tears still streaming. Though most of his bodily functions hadn’t even started again- he couldn’t even sweat- the stench of decay clung to his clothes and swamped the air. Eddie had to pull over after a minute to stifle his fit of retching, his own stomach too weak to be reminded of the few days before when he had woken up to the same smell amplified by the sewer system. Everything about the current situation was probably _the most disgusting thing_ that had ever- and would ever- take place in the great state of Georgia. But no one really cared. The ride back to the hotel would be thoroughly repressed by everyone involved. 

They had Stan back. 

Stan himself contemplated this as he stood under the showerhead of their room, face turned up into the stream and eyes closed, a little smile on his face as the warm water ran down his body. The shower curtain was only half-drawn, and Beverly Marsh was sat on the closed toilet painting her toenails her signature cherry red. The curtain let her see in, and Stan see out, which was purposeful in keeping him comfortable. He was still too jittery to be alone, and needed someone there right now. Everyone else was passed out in the main room, all having been worn out from digging or being revived only a few short days ago. Beverly was the most lucid. When Stan had found out about Eddie’s own experience, he wanted to take him in his arms and hold him. But he was still covered in months of rot. 

“Feeling better, Stan?” Beverly asked gently. She couldn’t help but smile at his pliant posture under the stream, and oddly enough he looked the happiest she had ever seen him. 

“Mm.” He breathed, just loudly enough to let her know he could hear her. He had been standing under the showerhead for what was getting up to an hour, now. Washing then sitting, washing then sitting. He had gone through a few rooms’ worth of shampoo and soap, but he decided he had ten years of it to catch up on regardless. He had to sit down for a while, and would have loved a bath, but decided against it. The cuts on his arms had turned into neat white lines, thick but smooth and not quite realistic to what a normal scar would look like. He was still a little apprehensive for now, however. To him the passage of time was closer to one year than ten. 

Everything was a gift, right now. The light. The air. It made up a world he had forfeited so long ago, and it brought him back from the nothing. The Black. 

He finally decided to turn off the showerhead and let go of the comfort of the water, doing so slowly and then sheepishly taking the massive towel that Bev handed him. He wrapped himself in it, breathing in the _everything_. Clean, very very clean. He was clean now, too. Probably cleaner than he had ever been before, after taking so long. The toilet was covered in towels that Bev had laid out, and he sat down with a sigh. Beverly smiled overtop him, and gave him a fair moment’s warning before covering his head in another towel and vigorously drying off his hair. He tried to follow her touch with his face, lamenting a little when the warm presence of her hands left. 

When he could see again he stared up dumbly at Beverly, who took his chin in her hand and wiped a tiny droplet of blood off his upper lip. He had cautiously asked her to help him shave, not yet willing to hold Mike’s gillette in his own shaking hands. He had felt a little pitiful, too. Sitting at the edge of the tub and staying as still as he could as she pared stripes of frothy cream off his face. It was quiet and focused. Personal, even for them. He realized why he was so comfortable to just have Beverly with him now. Why he wasn’t too shy to ask her for help in such a low place. He could still remember taking bloody rags to the laundromat for her. They were watchful forces in each other’s lives. Friends, but also there to take care of each other when the need arose. Beverly was uniquely mature in a lot of ways Stan also happened to be. She was careful, attentive to detail, and he could trust her with anything. A razor to his throat included. 

“I missed you.” She said, hardly more than a whisper. They didn’t break eye contact. 

“I missed you too.” He rasped. It was when she looked at him with such love- not a trace of pity in her gaze- that he realized in another world Beverly Marsh could have been his wife. His heart hurt to even think about Patty, so he pushed the thought far back into his head. He knew in this world they would have never married. If anyone was to marry Beverly Marsh it would be Bill Denbrough or Ben Hanscom, full of enough fire and wit and passion in the way she needed it, to even keep up with her own. But Beverly Marsh was also compatible with a man like Richie Tozier, who never stopped or slowed and tore through life with reckless abandon. A man like Mike Hanlon who was simple in the way he lived but endless and ever-changing in the stories he held. Even a man like Eddie Kaspbrak who couldn’t love her in the same way she could love him, but could still laugh with her and have all the fun in the world. 

Even a man like Stanley Uris, who had her sensibility. Her calm, her elegance. They were both quiet, watchful. They couldn’t fully satisfy each other alone, perhaps. But they were better together regardless. 

She leaned down and pressed her lips softly to his, and he reciprocated slowly. It was all graceful, as was everything when they were alone. They looked far too put-together, far too sure of themselves and beautiful to be connected in such a way. It felt perverse in itself. He opened his mouth a bit, and it deepened. Not quite heated enough to escalate, just warm and inviting. She let her hands roam down to perfect expanses of even, olive-hued skin. Stanley Uris had aged perfectly into a young man all those years ago, and now he was back to the same version of himself that Beverly had tragically missed out on. Her hands went down his chest, held his sides, then went back up to run down his arms. By the time she was holding his hands the kiss was ending naturally. No sense of loss, no need for more. Satisfaction.

They broke away, and she directed him to sit sideways on the seat. It was a little awkward, but they didn’t have a chair and she needed somewhere for him to sit so she could work at the mats of hair that had grown from his months in the ground. She wasn’t quite sure how the whole process worked, and at this point she was happy to forget about it. She picked up a pair of scissors carefully, blades clinking together.

“I haven’t seen you in so long.” She sighed, taking a dark blonde snarl of hair in her fingers. “So I’m not sure what you prefer.”

“Enough that it’s not so horrifying.” 

“That leaves room for error.” She murmured. There was a careful snip behind him before she dropped the knotted lock into the garbage can. 

“Thank you all for coming back for me. I mean, robbing a grave was…” He searched for a word. “More than I could have ever expected.”

“Getting you exhumed would be near impossible, and take way too long. We couldn’t leave you down there for any longer than we had to. Besides, what would we tell them when you turned up alive?” She chuckled at the thought. 

“It was a big sacrifice for me, and I didn’t make the same for you.” He admitted. Beverly stopped her careful fingers for a moment. 

“What you did wasn’t about being loyal to us, Stan. You were scared, and it took hold of you. It wasn’t any different from a disease. You couldn’t help it, and we never thought for once that you were less of because of it. We just missed you.”

Stan was happy the tears building in his eyes were so manageable. Not quite enough to spill over, but that was probably because he had already sobbed them all out. 

“I still wasn’t brave enough to come back.” He choked.

Beverly rested a flat palm on the curls that were slowly springing back to life as they dried, rubbing absently. “We have enough courage in this group, Stan. We have Bill and Eddie, who are the bravest people I know, and I don’t think I shy away from too much either. But without you? We aren’t the Losers. We don’t have your weird sense of humour. We don’t have someone to make us feel clumsy and stupid in comparison. We’re scattered without you. Disorganized. Incomplete. So whenever you aren’t brave enough to do something, we’ll pick up the slack for you. Okay?”

They sat in quiet for a moment, Stan wasn’t sure if his voice would betray him.

“Okay.” He murmured. His words cracked a little.

They carried on in silence. Relaxing, intimate silence. Stan had little care for whatever she did to his hair, and could already tell that it was a little different than how he had looked in a long time. Everything about him was that way, though, so he didn’t have to worry about looking strange to the Losers. He felt the cold metal of the blade awfully close to the nape of his neck before it closed right at the skin.

“I’m gonna look like Bill.” He groaned dramatically, only sending Bev into another fit of giggles.

“It’s still a few inches. In fact, I did such a good job.”

“Yeah, whatever. Hats are an option I suppose.”

Vindictive but playfully, Beverly tugged on a small tuft and cut it at the roots. Stan gasped and shot his hands up.

“Beverly!” 

“It’s okay, Bill’s still handsome.” 

“I can fucking _hear you guys!_ ” A low voice called from outside the door, which only sent the other two into a chorus of giggles.

“Why are you skulking outside?” Beverly called, setting down the scissors and ruffling Stan’s hair contemplatively. She observed for a moment, before deciding it was satisfactory. 

Bill opened the door slowly, meeting Stan’s gaze with uncharacteristic shyness. “It’s small enough as is in here. And I’m just waiting for when you g-guys start talking shit! Are you feeling better Stan?”

“Much better.” Stan smiled. Curls of blonde rested in a blunt line at his cheekbones now, but within a day would probably be everywhere like a cloud again. He stood slowly, making sure not to send all the blood rushing to his head. He didn’t feel shy being naked in front of the Losers, but he still got dressed quickly. The shirt waiting for him was one of Mike’s. It was soft from years of wear, and smelled like Mike Hanlon’s detergent and aftershave. Like a new-old home. 

“You should be getting to b-bed.” Bill smiled, putting an arm under Stan’s legs and easily scooping him up despite the taller’s several inches on him. Stan laughed in surprise, gripping around Bill’s neck as he carried him back into the hotel room. 

“Show off!” Beverly called after him, plucking another stray blonde lock off the counter. Bill marched Stan over to the bed that Eddie and Richie had crashed on together, rocking Richie gently until he snorted in distaste. 

“Delivery of one very t-tired and illegally acquired Stanley.” he announced. Richie sleepily scooted away from Eddie, making room for a Stanwich between them. Bill gently set him down, and he curled into the sheets immediately before Richie and Eddie trapped him in between their instinctive grasps on one another. Bill took a moment to smile longingly at the three before pulling the covers back up to their chins. 

It was around 5:30 in the morning, and Bill Denbrough was still trying to get a grasp on it all He knocked at the bathroom door again.

“Yeah?”

“Everything okay?” Bill asked.

“Yep.” 

“Cool, gotta piss.” 

Beverly opened the door, and made no motion to leave as Bill squeezed past her to the toilet. Nothing was strange anymore.

“You look n-nice.” Bill commented casually. She looked down at her flip-flops and cutoffs.

“Couture.” She said sarcastically. He nudged her so that he could wash his hands, and she stared at them in the mirror for a long moment. It was, like Stan, a Bill Denbrough she had never really gotten to see in real time. He was still… handsome. Very handsome. And not quite worn down to the quick by the world. He still had a delicate smattering of freckles like her. His hair was still a much darker red- while hers was almost strawberry blonde. He was a good head taller, too. 

“Your bangs are lopsided.” He teased, flicking some water at her. She had cut them on the plane over while everyone paced and worried, because that was the Beverly Marsh speciality. Makeovers or work to take her mind off anything and everything

“Yours aren’t.” She snorted.

He splashed a whole handful at her this time and she managed to stifle her squeal. 

“You guys suck.” He laughed, twisting the faucet off. “You go bald once and never hear the end of it.”

“Welcome to Richie’s world.” She rolled her eyes. “You smoke bamboo, or you run through a window, or you piss yourself at homecoming…” 

“Or you knit a sweater for your pet hamster…”

“I forgot about that.” Beverly muttered, carefully using the scissors to even out the other side of her hair. Putting them down, she walked over to the tub and sat down with her back against it, staring up at the ceiling. Bill looked unsure for a moment, before joining her. It was a tight fit, and suddenly they had both come to the sudden realization that surreally enough, they were two kids again. Not in body, but their spirits were untiring once more. They were two strange, unbreakable little creatures on the floor of a cheap hotel in Atlanta, sleeping seven to a room with two beds.

Bill considered for a moment that Beverly’s husband was sleeping a wall away, but part of him knew Ben would never accuse either of them of any sort of disloyalty. He didn’t think any of them could with each other, anymore. 

“You’re warm.” Beverly murmured, leaning into his broad shoulder and toying with the hem of his shirt. It was just an old white tee, the only other clothes he had bothered to bring aside from underwear and socks. No time to pack. No time to even think about what he was getting himself into. 

“You haven’t slept much?” She asked, noticing the dullness in his eyes. He wrapped a sturdy arm around her and pulled her in close. She breathed in the scent of the shirt, which was overwhelmingly Bill. 

“Nope.” His voice was going soft now. Relaxed

“Couldn’t?” 

“I think I can now, now that Stan’s okay.” Bill rubbed his hand along her back, his mind going to Audra for a moment. He didn’t have time to call just yet. Things were too hectic. He would back in Derry, when things had calmed down a little. 

“I couldn’t if I tried last night.” He confessed. “Not nightmares- I actually haven’t had any since remembering. I think it sort of took the memories out of my subconscious and it must have helped. B-But I guess I’m just still trying to get used to having everyone back. I was worried about Stan, I don’t want him getting sick. And he still needs to talk to someone about his…” He took a pause. “Why he k-k-killed himself.”

“We can find ways to help him. Hell, we can even get him a therapist and he can just find a way not to sound crazy while he talks about Derry. Stan’s smart like that.” Beverly said, feeling her eyes droop a little as she rested against Bill’s soft yet firm chest. “In the meantime, he won’t really have much of a chance to be alone. He has us. All our time, and all of our attention if he needs it.”

There was a creak from the room, and Beverly shifted against Bill. He wasn’t watching her, but suddenly there were lips on his. Warm and perfect, heated and eager from Stan a few minutes prior. His hand wavered behind her head before it flexed, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her into him. They were, without any doubt, absolutely electric together. All fiery hair and biting and passion. Everything was hot, humid, stifling, _wet, hard!_

_Shit._ Bill pulled back suddenly. 

“I haven’t called Audra.” Bill croaked. Beverly’s eyes twitched back and forth across his face in confusion for a moment, before realization dawned.

“Oh, Bill! I’m so…” She scooted back on socked feet. “So sorry. I completely-” 

“It’s fine.” He interrupted. “It’s fine.”

“No it isn’t.” She sighed, getting to her feet. The cutoff shorts she was wearing hugged her ass and Bill felt worse for noticing. “I should have waited, or made sure that you were-”

“You knew it was okay. We all know, when we’re together.” He smiled weakly. “It’s like t-transferring power. We understand each other- sense that kind of thing.” 

“But Audra doesn’t.” 

“I t-told her.” Bill confessed, getting to his feet as well. “I told her I had sex with you, back in Derry.” 

“And what did she say?”

“She said she deserved it.”

“No she didn’t. You didn’t let her blame herself, did you B-”

“She slept with a director, while we were married.”

Beverly stopped, eyes tracing Bill’s face.

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

“So we called it even stevens.” Bill smiled gravely. Beverly could see the reproach in his eyes. It still hurt him. Maybe that was unfair, but it was human. He had done wrong by her, but it was different, wasn’t it? Beverly surmised that it had to be. Shitty, yes, but shitty under pressure and earth-shattering terror. 

“She slept with him four months after our honeymoon and kept it up for two years.” Bill laughed. “I had no clue.”

“Bill-”

“And we decided to forget about it. Because it was easier, I guess. Everything is such a p-pain in the ass when you’re famous. Her- not me. Everyone could care less about me, but an actress? People had their nose in our marriage from the beginning. So we just let it go. It was so much easier that way.” He let out a shaky breath. Bev worried he was about to start crying.

“And it was easier. Because I love her. We just settled down, I guess. It was easier to just stay where we were. Just get old and relax and have that p-picturesque relationship. I love Audra. She’s…” 

“She’s peaceful?” Beverly offered.

Bill smiled, a tear finally spilling over in one eye, then the other. He laughed. “Yeah. P-peaceful. Quiet. Easy to talk to. I think I’m just upset because I have to g-give that up. I thought after all of this time it was over. Over for good. I could forget about the clown, forget about her cheating. That I could relax, then eventually just…” He paused. “Die, finally.”

Beverly wrapped her other arm around him.

“I can’t even bear to think of you dying, Bill.”

“Well, good news, looks like you don’t have to.” He sniffled. Beverly felt his chest heave, and suddenly he was crying in earnest.

“Do you ever think about killing yourself Beverly?”

“Not seriously. Not with conviction, or a plan. Do you?”

“I used to think about it all the time.”

Beverly tightened her grip on his shoulders.

“And Stan had the balls to do it.” He added.

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re right, that’s shitty.” He sniffed. “But it’s easy. It’s like thinking about the end of a tunnel. After everything that’s happened? The dreams and the p-paranoia? My house backs onto a forest, and I can’t even look out into the backyard without feeling like r-r-running away. But I know. I know it’s not the answer. I wouldn’t do it-” Bill stopped, as though he had told a lie. “I mean, I certainly won’t d-do it now.”

Beverly held him tighter, feeling his broad muscles relax against her side. She rubbed his shoulder slowly.

“I’ll take care of you Bill.”

“It’s my job to take care of you. All of you.”

“Why? Because you decided that back when you were eleven then you never gave it up?”

“P-pretty much.”

“Well.” Beverly smiled. “I’d like to see you try.”

 

Richie had slept lightly before. 

Certainly not so much back in California as he did in Derry, but enough that he was used to the sensation of waking all at once. It was always like that in hotels before he had spent enough time in them. When he was younger sleeping in a hotel was an ordeal- too unfamiliar to get comfortable. By the time he was on his own and work was going good he would spend weeks at a time travelling back and forth from big cities. Lots of hotels. They were easier to relax in with experience, and maybe a couple drinks. 

His eyes fluttered open, and a figure stood by the bed. He clambered to his elbows quickly, and the blurry shape turned to face him. 

“Richie?” It whispered. Hoarse. Deep, but a little bit of an inflection- effeminate. Unfamiliar.

“Bill?”

“Stan.” He rasped. 

Oh, right. Fuck.

“Stan! Oh, fuck man I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright, Rich- uh- Richard. I was just thinking of getting some fresh air.”

“I’ll come with you.” Richie grunted, a little confused. He palmed the bedside table for his glasses until he managed to find them, and popped them on his face. The room was still dark, but a very thin silhouette in a baggy sweater and lacking in pants stood in front of the blinded window. 

The two dressed quietly, and pretty awkwardly in the dark. Richie looked around the room that slowly began to light up a little as the morning seeped in. Eddie thankfully wasn’t left alone in their bed, as Bill’s form was curled up against his back and nearly falling off the edge. The other three were a little more comfortable on the other bed, both Ben and Beverly claiming a softer part of Mike’s defined shoulders to rest their heads on. Richie pushed Bill and Eddie gently towards the centre. 

“Ready?” Stan whispered. Richie turned, eyes adjusting a little to realize that though it was definitely the real Stan, he didn’t recognize this boy in the slightest. 

They made sure to leave a note on the door- _went for a walk, won’t be too long - Richie and Stan_ before cracking the door into the well lit hall.

Stan didn’t even walk beside him, instead setting a brisk pace a few steps ahead. He was in Ben’s sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that might have been Bill’s. Richie tried to decide how he felt as he watched the back of his head. Frizzy, dark blonde curls that had been cut a little choppy- a way Stan would have never had when they were kids, and styled far too hastily for his peculiar taste.

When they got to the door outside at the end of the hall there was a metal railing separating them from the parking lot. Stan grabbed it eagerly, and Richie realized that he hadn’t been walking quickly just to be somewhere.

“Hey, hey, relax.” Richie urged, cautiously joining him as he hunched over and sucked in laboured breaths. It took a minute or two, but eventually he was back to normal. Richie realized that in the process he had wrapped a hand around Stan’s shoulder to support his weight.

“I shouldn’t- wow.” Stan laughed nervously. “It’s been a while. It’s been- This is my first time seeing the sun again.” He was breathless. Richie could see his face now as he took in the mundane parking lot of their hotel. The sun was high above Atlanta now, and warm spring heat welcomed them outside again. 

Richie couldn’t help but stare. The last time he had ever seen Stan was when he was 13, and what a strange experience it was. Stranger than seeing any of the others, whom he had already seen all grown up and imagined as proper young adults. Stan was hardly the boy who had moved from Derry before High School anymore. He was a little pale and jaundiced in the light, but Richie could tell it would soon remedy itself. Mostly he was full- full featured and hardly sunken at all, with bright eyes and bouncy hair. His eyes were still hazel, and they flickered about the sky in wonder. He had lost all the baby fat that made his serious expression so comical when he was a child, and grew into that sense of refinement perfectly. Richie hadn’t been surprised when Bill grew more handsome as a teenager, but he didn’t expect it from Stan. Stan was far too quiet, far too focused on everything except being handsome. Neat, clean, smart maybe, but never handsome. He traced the edge of Stan’s brow down the high bridge and smooth, straight slope of his aquiline nose. His lips were soft, plump, and his jaw strong but proportionate. Almond eyes and defined features- he brought Apollo to mind, but Richie thought that he made the marble statues look a little homely in comparison. 

“Wow, Stan-kid, you really grew up.” Stan’s eyes flickered back to him, and his chest felt so strange it leaped up into his throat and down into his stomach. He was offered a weary smile. 

“That’s how this whole time thing works, isn’t it?”

“Actually, according to recent developments, no. Not really.” 

“I suppose not.”

“Why did you call me Richard?” Richie blurted. Stan looked a little surprised, especially when he noticed how nervous Richie had become. He knew when Richie was scared, as Richie knew when Stan was scared. They had done plenty of being scared together, because when you were friends with the likes of Bill Denbrough and Beverly Marsh, sometimes your other pals weren’t a great point of reference for if you should be feeling scared or not. 

“Am I just- I’m not Richie, now? I mean it’s not just like _‘oh I hate being called Richard’_ because I do, but that’s not the point. I never thought that when you’d see me it would be like when you see someone you used to know from school… You talked with them plenty and slept at their house and used to waste entire days with them but now when you see them in a fucking K-Mart it’s just ‘Hi, Kevin, long time no see!’. Then you walk away and both of you think of when you were friends. But we’re still friends, Stan. I mean fuck, when I saw you again my heart was racing so hard I thought I was going to die- and it wasn’t just because of the whole felony grave-robbing thing. It was you.”

Richie stopped when he heard a high, choked hiccup and turned to see Stan desperately wiping tear tracks off his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do for a moment, so he offered his arms and Stan pressed up against him, propping up his chin over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Richie. I kn-know. I mean I- don’t know what I was th-thinking when I- I- It’s been so long. I never came back for you and I... ”

Richie rubbed a hand up and down his back. “No, hey, Stan, It’s alright. I understand. I’m sorry. I’m not mad-”

“I still love you, Richie.”

“I love you, Stan.” 

Richie wasn’t sure what they both meant by that. His mind went to all the days he spent wandering around with Stan, just Stan, when they were little. Just kids with nothing to do in the long days of summer. They would walk around and Richie would babble and Stan would listen and interrupt him when he needed to. They had spent the most time together, too. Right up until that day they had decided to go down to the Kenduskeag and see if Stuttering Bill and the little Kaspbrak Kid were up to anything fun. Stan put up with everything he did. He would meet Richie with that same, level stare whenever he said something outrageous or suggested something dangerous or put his hand high up on the khaki of Stan’s shorts curiously, or when behind Keene’s he would tell Stan they should try to kiss for fun. 

Sometimes Stan would humour him, of course. Rarely. But when he did it was always the most outrageous and dangerous of things. 

They stood like that for a while, but eventually a car drove down that edge of the lot and they seperated hurriedly. Stan looked at him sideways, and smiled once more. Sure of himself. 

“Us, again.”

“Us again.” Richie agreed. “I’ll laugh at your jokes if you laugh at mine.”

“When have I ever laughed at your jokes?” Stan shot dryly, still sniffing and opening the door. “And when has anyone _ever_ laughed at mine.” 

“Excuse you! I am a beacon of pure fucking joy, asshole. I made my fortune in chuckology.”

“Please, you were a disc jockey.”

“I’m a radio star.” Richie corrected. 

“Is that what they call it? When did you get diagnosed?” 

“Alright asshole-” Richie sneered, bearing down and earning a high shriek of laughter from Stan as he gave chase. Richie was a little too careless to remember how shaky Stan had been a few minutes prior. The two went thundering down the hallway, and Stan’s wobbly legs had seemed to recover completely as he outpaced Richie back to their room. 

-

Everyone bumbled about the rest of the day, waking once in a while to go to the bathroom or take a quick shower, maybe scavenge through their bags to see if they had any food left. But more than two of them never managed to wake up at the same time, and everyone ended up stumbling back to bed pretty quickly after they arose. Eventually Bill blinked his eyes open and the early morning sun stung as it assaulted his sleepy eyes. He let out a deep sigh, wishing his insomnia could lay off for a few hours so that he didn’t end up tiring himself out to death. 

He was lying on someone who’s hand was hugged firmly around his chest. He realized it was Eddie, and he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to crane his neck to look up at him. Eddie offered a peaceful smile, and Bill realized he was lazily watching the faded Hotel TV. 

“You slept well.” Eddie murmured fondly, letting Bill pull himself up onto sleep-weak arms. 

“I don’t think so, w-what time is it?” 

“Eight thirty.”

“Yeah, two hours. Great.” Bill groaned sarcastically.

“Twenty two, actually. It’s the 30th.” 

“The- oh shit!” Bill gasped. 

“Feeling better?” Eddie laughed, tugging him in with his good arm. Bill noticed that the pale one was lying limply across his front. He had managed to dig and drive last night, but occasionally he had to manually move his fingers into place with the other hand. 

“Yeah. Jesus, I needed that. Shouldn’t be wasting t-time though. How’s the arm?”

“It’s coming, slowly regaining feeling.” Eddie shrugged. “I still can’t really feel the surface, but I can move it somehow? I just need to watch it while I do things to make sure my nerves are actually picking up the signal. You didn’t notice, but I almost drove into a streetlight two nights ago.” 

“Hm.” Bill hummed. “And you told us you were a reliable driver”. He rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder, stretching out his own hand and gently linking it with the smooth, pale expanse of Eddie’s reconstructed arm. Eddie smiled despite himself, trying not to let his cheeks go pink. 

The bathroom door creaked open and Mike Hanlon emerged, in nothing more than underwear and a towel to dry off his broad chest. He slowly made his way over to Bill and Eddie’s bed on stiff legs, flopping down onto Bill’s legs with a long groan.

“Me too.” Eddie mused.

Bill staggered his way to the bathroom, feeling like he had been asleep for a few years. When he remerged, he looked around the room, before frowning when he realized Stan and Richie weren’t there.

The front door banged open and the three of them jumped, but they could already hear Richie’s blabbering from the hall and relaxed. Stan carefully maneuvered his way in, legs working cautiously on the carpet as not to fall. He was out of breath though, face red but a smile ghosting his features. 

“He better not be running you around.” Bill warned as Stan collapsed in a happy huff beside Mike. 

“Richie? Never.” He panted.

“Will you guys shut the fuck up for five minutes?” Beverly groaned, her and Ben still lying in the other bed, dead to the world. Richie closed the door behind him, and in a few lanky strides leapt into their bed. He started to hop up and down excitedly on hands and knees over Beverly, Ben let out a noise of surprise as he nearly rolled off the bed at the motion.

‘It’s almost _nine a.m._ Bev! Wake up!” He churred in his highest falsetto. _”Wake up wake up wake uppp-”_ He continued until she laughed and tried to throw off his much heavier form, but she couldn’t manage to topple his height that nearly swallowed her up. Eventually he rolled off dramatically, limbs going straight as he rammed into Ben, wrapping his arms tightly around him instead. 

“That’s a _fifty year old man_.” Eddie sighed, slowly pushing Bill off so he could get up and find some pants. 

“That’s a fifty-year-old-twenty-year-old _Richie_.” Mike reminded. “The perfect combination of large enough to be a problem, and immature enough to be a nuisance.”

“Get off asshole ‘m tryna’ change.” Ben grumbled from the other side of the room, now standing with Richie latched to his back.

“So where are we headed?” Mike asked, picking up a limp t-shirt and sniffing it with an air of suspicion.

“Clothes shopping.” Eddie decided. “Or we’ll all be wearing our pyjamas for the next little while, which is fun in theory but bad in practice.”

Beverly’s eyes lit up, moving to sit upright while minding the Richie who had firmly attached himself to her waist. “I could go for that!” Richie made a noise of agreement. 

“Well we all need to keep in mind that we’re leaving for Derry tomorrow morning, but that does sound like a good idea. There’s not very much open there, so we should get what we need now. Is there anything else we need to do?” Mike asked.

“Back to Derry...” A nervous voice came from the foot of the bed.

They all turned to face Stan, who was sitting cross legged beside Mike. Everyone seemed to hold their breath for a second.

“Yeah, Stan we’re-” Mike started gently.

“I know, I know what we have to do. I’m sorry, It’s just weird to say. I’m alright.” Stan mumbled. He stood slowly, but fairly sure of himself. “I just have to use the bathroom.”

Eddie and Bill both started to say something before Richie loudly went “Aw shit, Stan so do I!” With all the subtlety of a rock through a windshield. Beverly jabbed her elbow into his stomach and he buried his face into the pillow with a soft _uhf_.

Stan looked a little surprised, his eyes darting around to try and meet everyone’s guilty downcast gazes before he let out a chuckle.

“Oh- Oh!” He laughed, it started slowly until he had to take a pause. He bit his lip to try and stifle his giggling. “Oh my god. I just have to piss. But yeah I’ll- I’ll keep the door open.” He snorted. Everyone watched him walk away quietly.

“Well- that’s definitely Stan.” Richie joked. Beverly let out a huff, rolling her eyes and knocking him off of her as she stood to dress. They all went about getting ready, and Bill and Beverly ended up in their own corner again, talking quietly amongst themselves. Stan emerged from the bathroom fairly quickly, going to Mike’s things to find something to wear.

“I’m worried about him.” Beverly sighed under her breath. Bill looked confused. “He was pretty shaken up yesterday morning, he went pale even seeing a razor, and now he’s just joking around? It seems a little too fast.”

Bill caught a glance at Stan out of the corner of his eyes. Flyaway hair caught the sun and shone like gold, and he was smiling warmly at whatever Mike was saying to him. His eyes weren’t still and intent like Stan’s had always been, instead they fluttered back and forth from Mike, to the wall behind him, to Richie, to Eddie, and then he made eye contact with Bill for a quick moment. His pupils looked dilated.

“Do you think he’s on drugs?” Bill asked. Beverly shot him a glare.

“If anyone gave him _narcotics_ I will personally rip their fucking nuts off their stupid goddamn body.” 

“Maybe he went and… No.” Bill sighed. “He wouldn’t have had time.”

“What are we even talking about.” Beverly shook her head. “He’s not high. I mean, just… You know!” She motioned her hands around her head, and Bill nodded. 

Closing his eyes, he let his mind find Stan in the room. His voice, his heartbeat… He had the innate understanding nothing was amiss in terms of what he could pick up, he would have been able to tell if Stan was particularly afflicted by anything. 

He opened his eyes and realized Stan was staring right at him, he tore his gaze away quickly.

“Okay!” Richie announced cheerfully. “Breakfast!”

-

They ended up all stuffed around a table at the nearest Waffle House, true to Georgia custom. Bill, Ben and Mike were all facing the TV in the corner of the diner, which was on the news, though all of them silently refrained from mentioning the coverage of a local grave-robbing that had launched a full-city investigation and search. The police were absolutely baffled however, as the night guard had zero recollection of any of the night’s events, there were no footprints around or in the hole, and the K9 units couldn’t even begin to pick up a scent. 

“Thank Maturin.” Bill muttered gravely to the other two. 

“I cannot believe the fuckin’ disrespect to the namesake of this fine establishment.” Richie sneered, nose to nose with Eddie who had a very conflicted looking Stan practically glued to his side.

“I’m an egg man.” Eddie retorted calmly, defending his choice in breakfast and almost immediately realizing his mistake.

“They are the egg men.” Richie laughed.

“Now you’ve got him going.” Beverly sighed. 

“I am the walrus.” Stan finished dryly before Richie could break out into embarrassingly loud song. He was still staring down at his menu like it was written in a foreign language. 

“What’s up?” Mike asked him, peeling his eyes off the television as the news finally cut to a different story. 

“Oh, I think I’ll get something light, I don’t think I can eat much yet.” Stan looked up wearily. “I also don’t have any… money.”

“Stan, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we all have cash to burn.” Ben offered gently. 

“I shouldn’t expect you guys to pay my way forever-” Stan started, before he was cut off by a chorus of groans. “Okay! Okay! I know, I know.” He huffed. “I’m just trying not to overstep any boundaries. It’s been quite a while for me.”

“Oh don’t worry, no one else is worried about overstepping boundaries.” Ben deadpanned, side-eyeing Bill as he took a long sip of water. Bill’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open to stay something, while Beverly just quirked an eyebrow and tried to hide her wry smile.

“Oh? Oh what’s this?” Richie cooed excitedly, eyes flickering back and forth between Ben and Bill. Ben just jabbed Bill lightly with his muscular arm, jostling their leader a little out of his stupor.

“Nothing.” Ben shrugged casually. Richie squinted at the two for a few seconds longer, before scanning the rest of the table and letting his eyes fall on Beverly. His mouth went into an ‘O’ shape and he let out a dramatic gasp.

“Ben got _cuckolded_!” He stage whispered, loudly enough that Eddie’s hand shot up to cover his mouth.

“What a daring way to put it for someone who’s ass I could kick so hard.” Ben said lowly, cocking his head to the side and wrapping an arm around Beverly’s shoulders. Richie still smiled smugly at him from across the table, eyes lidded and eyebrows practically waggling suggestively. Stan watched the whole thing unfold with silent, staring eyes, before making eye contact with Mike for a long moment of mutual disturbance. 

It was then that a waitress came by to take orders, and everyone held their breath and prayed as Richie spoke. Miraculously enough, he seemed to get the hint and didn’t say anything too Richie for the general public. Their food came fairly quickly too, the restaurant didn’t seem very busy despite the lazy traffic starting to build outside.

A few of them noticed that Stan stared down at his plate of waffles with a sort of confusion, fork laden with whip cream. He took a tentative lick of the fluffy white cloud, before grimacing and pulling away once more.

“What’s wrong, Stan?” Bill asked cautiously. Stan’s eyes flickered up, realizing everyone was watching. Eddie had a moment of clarity, and started looking around at the brims of their glasses. 

“Well you all watching me so closely isn’t exactly _wrong_ so much as annoying.” Stan huffed. “But otherwise, everything tastes like I burnt off every nerve inside my mouth. I don’t think my tastebuds came back.”

“Yes they did.” Eddie piped up, handing him a wedge of lemon and a thick bundle of napkins. “Don’t freak out, and try to cover your mouth.”

The rest of the losers watched in confusion as Stan took the lemon from Eddie, slowly bringing it to his mouth and taking a nervous bite of it. He made a sudden noise of surprise and winced, his open mouth gushing far too much saliva to be considered normal. The other losers slid back in their chairs, a little mortified. 

“What the fuck was that?” Ben asked. 

Eddie simply speared a piece of potato with his fork. “I’m not even sure a doctor could answer that. Recalibration I think. I had to eat something strong to bring them back around too.”

Stan eyed the wedge suspiciously before taking another careful bite, this time muffling his discomfort and trying to coat the inside of his mouth with the bitter acid. His mouth swelled with spit, and he swallowed thickly, earning a moan from Beverly who looked about ready to abandon her plate. 

Stan tried another tentative lick at his fork, brightening up immediately. “Thanks, Eddie.” He smiled, tearing off a corner of his waffle and popping it in his mouth. 

“Come on, eat.” Ben gestured to Beverly’s plate, which she begrudgingly started to pick from. 

“This has been the weirdest weekend of my fucking life.” She grumbled.

“Are we sure?” Mike laughed.

“Yep. Clown or not, this has been wild from beginning to end.”

“And don’t stuff yourself, Stan, or you’ll be taking the worst shit of your after-life in a few hours.” Eddie warned. 

“Thanks Eds, figure that out by yourself too?” Bill sighed, almost done his first serving but taking a quick break to wrinkle his nose in disgust. 

Eddie shrugged. “We all still shit. Did anyone stop shitting?”

“O-kayyy, how about we all have a nice, perfectly quiet family breakfast.” Mike broke in, clapping his hands.

“Thank God.” Beverly shook her head.

“Yeah, totally. But for the record- I still shit.” 

“Beep beep.”

“Me t-”

“Beep! Beep!”

\--

Eventually everyone was wandering around town in small groups, lazily making rounds through busy malls and bustling city streets. Richie and Beverly were in some sort of designer store, probably trying on something as ostentatious as they tended to wear. Ben, Mike and Eddie had gone to return their rental car, leaving Bill and Stan to sit on a bench and watch the people file by.

Bill looked over at Stan, who seemed perfectly content to enjoy the light and sound he had just been given back. They had quite a few bags- enough to clothe Bill, who had neglected to pack, Stan and Eddie who had neglected to own anything not sold off in an estate sale, and the rest of Richie and Beverly’s impulse purchases. Bill had to watch and wonder what Eddie and Stan thought as they rebuilt their lives from ground zero- quite literally. 

“I know we’ve all been bugging you, Stan. B-but we just care. You’ve seemed a little distracted, you know? And after what happened all those years ago, you might need someone to t-talk to. We’re always here.” Bill said, awkwardly breaking their silence.

Stan turned to face him, and Bill noticed that his face had finally gotten a healthy flush back to it. He smiled easily, corners of his mouth quirking up.

“I know, Bill. I’m not angry with anyone. Quite the opposite, considering you guys dug me out of the ground what could still be considered yesterday. I don’t think I’m in the state of mind that I was when Mike called, either. I always had seasons when I was alive- I mean, alive the uh- first time.” He looked down at his feet. “Seasons where I’d be depressed... But I never meant to killmyself, certainly never attempted it. It just sort of came over me that night, you know? With all the memories. I know sometimes it can probably look like I’m having that moment again, and the visions are a little like... it … sometimes, but those aren’t anything serious. Just the way it’s always been.”

Bill’s smile faltered at the last part. “The… visions, Stan?”

Stan smiled again like nothing was amiss. “Well, yeah. When I get spaced out it’s not like I’m thinking bad things or anything like that. I’m just having the…” He waved his hands around his head dreamily. “Prenominitions.”

“The prenominitions, Stan?” Bill asked again, cocking his head to the side. Stan seemed equally confused.

“You know, when you just get a quick vision of something. Something that happened, something that’s going to happen.” 

“You see things, and then they happen?” 

“Yes…” Stan sounded weary now. “I mean, you know what I mean Bill. I can tell when you reach out to us. When you feel someone from far away, or like when you had everyone send themselves to Mike in the hospital.”

“You know about that?’

“Of course I know about it, I got caught up on everyone last night.”

“Richie t-told you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Well I dreamt it all, but that’s easy. It all already happened.” Stan shrugged. “It would be harder to try and keep it out instead of seeing it.”

“So Maturin showed you everything that happened?”

“Well, I do think he helped. It was a little easier of a process than usual.”

“You’ve… always had these… visions.”

“You haven’t?”

“No I fucking haven’t, Stan! No one fff-fucking has!” Bill exclaimed. “You can see the future? The past?”

“Wait, you guys haven’t been…” Stan looked genuinely bewildered. “Holy shit.”

“Have you been having them for a long time?”

“Forever.” 

“Since before the _Loser’s club_?” 

“Since the day I was born, Bill. I thought all of us have.”

Bill’s threw his hands up in disbelief before falling back against the bench. Stan did the same. There was a long, drawn out silence.

“Your wedding was lovely.” Stan offered shyly, Bill snapped him a wide-eyed look of disbelief, which Stan looked away from, embarrassed. 

“You saw _that?!_ You saw _everything_?”

“What’s going on?” Richie's cheerful voice chirped from behind them. They both spun around to see him and Beverly happily leaning against the bench behind them. Just some teenagers, hanging out at the mall. 

Bill and Stan shared a look, before turning back to their friends.

“We have some things to discuss.” Bill decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long long long wait but a long long chapter that if I'm being honest I'm not 100% happy with, hope you guys enjoy regardless :)


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